


Ashen Wings

by brazenedMinstrel



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: A tiny bit of fluff, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Battle, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Demon AU, Demon!Sylvanas, Demons, Denial of Feelings, Don't worry, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fallen Angels, Fallen angel!Sylvanas, Family Drama, Family Issues, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, For a few chapters, Human!Jaina, Hurt/Comfort, Jaina Needs a Nap, Lesbians, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Pining, Sickness, Strangers to Lovers, Violence, fallen angel AU, for one chapter, it's not really slow burn, medium burn?, rooftop battle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-01-13 06:56:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 74,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18463799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenedMinstrel/pseuds/brazenedMinstrel
Summary: Fallen angel Sylvanas is tracking down the demon who made her into a monster. On the way, she meets his human ex, Jaina. Shenanigans ensue.(Rating will definitely change, more tags will be added, Jaina needs a nap)





	1. Chapter 1

Jaina knew of some fun things to do. Sailing, even though she didn’t have a boat anymore. Feeling the wind in her hair and the water underneath her. Or reading some good books. 

 

Overworking in a cramped office with too much paperwork to manage wasn’t one of them. Nor was walking home through a cold winter’s evening. The only thing to make it worse could be snow. 

 

She throws open the door of her flat and starts running up the stairs to warm herself a bit. Her apartment is on the fourth floor out of six. As she crosses the darkened passage to her door, she spots a figure in the shadows. Whirling around, she is quickly swept off her feet by a strong arm. Grunting, she lands on her heavy bag, shuffling backwards over the dusty concrete floor until she is pressed against the wall. The figure jumps on top of her, digging sharp knees into her stomach. 

 

‘Where is he?’ 

 

It is a woman. With a voice like liquid silk, silver blonde hair and eyes of an odd light blue hue. 

 

Breathing heavily and trying to dislodge herself, Jaina asks: ‘Where is who?’ 

 

Her efforts only cause the woman on top of her to lean forward, pressing her knee painfully into Jaina’s ribs. Now she is pissed off. Her tiring day had made her weary, grumpy and bold beyond reason. She jerks her knee up, scoring a hit in the woman’s thigh. Yet the moment she has freed one of her arms and tries to punch her assailant, a screech of metal on the concrete floor set her hairs on end. She is pushed harder against the wall. To her horror, the cold edge of a knife’s blade comes to rest underneath her jawbone. Jaina utters a pathetic high whimper at the weapon being pressed against her skin. 

 

‘I asked, where is he?’ the woman says. ‘Your partner.’ 

 

Jaina’s whimper turns into a dry sob, then a half-mad laugh. ‘You’re two months late if you wanted to steal him from me! Left without a trace. Vanished from my previous house in a single night.’ 

 

The woman seems to be taken aback, her weight shifting, giving Jaina a slight breather. ‘Do you speak to him still?’ 

 

‘Why would I speak to my ex?’ Jaina dryly says. ‘He isn’t here anymore. Now are you going to get off me or what?’ 

 

_ Definitely too tired to care for my own good,  _ she thinks. And surely enough, the blonde pressed the knife harder against her skin, drawing a few drops of blood. Jaina yelps in pain. 

 

‘I have business with him. Tell me where he lives.’ 

 

‘I - I have no idea. I told you that he vanished suddenly. Maybe he still lives at his old house, I could give you his number so you can sort it out by yourself.’ 

 

Beyond caring for the man’s wellbeing, Jaina arches her eyebrows and hopes that her assailant got the point. After a moment of eerie silence, she is freed from her grip. They both get to their feet, and when Jaina has picked up her shoulder bag, the other woman gestures with her knife to the gallery of doors. 

 

‘Lead the way,’ she says. 

 

‘Put that thing away. The neighbours will go mad if they see a maniac with a knife here.’ 

 

Again, Jaina realizes that she isn’t being smart. This crazy woman could kill her where she stands. But she keeps her face blank and eyes unwavering. The woman slips the knife into the inside of her red coat, then points to the hallway again with her hand. 

 

Their steps are eerily loud on the concrete. So is the click of Jaina’s key in the lock. Her apartment is cold, since she cannot afford to keep the central heating on when she isn’t at home. When she walks to her living room, the woman stops her with a gloved hand on her arm.

 

‘Call him, now,’ she commands. 

 

‘I deleted his number. It’s still in a notebook somewhere, I need to look it up.’ Jaina jerks her arm out of the stranger’s grip and stomps to the living room. 

 

Soon enough, she finds the number, tapping it into her smartphone and eyeing the other woman as she waits for her ex to answer. In the light of her living room, she can finally see the woman a bit better. 

 

Her hair is of the most perfect, nearly unnatural shade of blonde. Light and silvery, like spun morning sun. Narrow features, high cheekbones, a disdainful snarl on her face. And those eyes. The lightest blue that Jaina has ever seen, nearing silver. Slender figure, with athletic legs in her tight jeans. 

 

The phone beeps against her ear. Once, twice. Jaina waits. 

 

Five times and no answer. After the sixth time, she hears a click and some white noise. Her stomach twists in revulsion at hearing his voice again and she glares angrily at the woman who has started leaning against the doorframe. Then a woman’s metallic voice sounds from the phone. 

 

‘This number is out of use, please contact the phone compan-’ 

 

‘Shut up you,’ Jaina grates. ‘It’s not working. Think he took a different phone or something.’ She throws the phone onto the pillows of her turquoise couch. ‘Are you going to leave now? Go stalk someone else.’ 

 

‘Give me an address, then,’ the woman says, unmoving. 

 

‘Oh right, because a number isn’t working and you have…  _ business _ with Arthas. What does that mean anyways?’ 

 

‘The address.’ 

 

‘Address for information.’ Jaina squares her chin and crosses her arms. 

 

Narrowing her eyes, the stranger hisses in between her teeth. It strikes Jaina as a strange noise, a rattle in her throat rather than a spurt of breath. ‘He took something from me. I need it back.’ 

 

‘Which means exactly jack shit.’ 

 

‘Naturally.’ 

 

‘What has he taken from you? Don’t say your heart or something sappy like that.’ 

 

The woman tilts her head, feigning curiosity. ‘That is a rather personal question.’ 

 

‘Look who you’re talking to,’ Jaina quips while grabbing a pen and tearing a piece out of her notebook. She is determined to follow up on her part of the promise, even if the stranger will continue to spin mysteries to avoid giving actual information. ‘I’ve seen more of him than you, I bet.’ 

 

‘You have not.’ 

 

There is a strange kind of definity in the woman’s words. She plucks the slip of paper out of Jaina’s hands, then makes her way to the door. She moves gracefully, very much out of place in Jaina’s house, where everything is slightly messy. And unnaturally swiftly, so that Jaina has to run to catch up with her before the stranger can close the door. 

 

‘Wait! You still didn’t tell me what the hell you were doing in my flat, or what you and Arthas have to settle!’ 

 

But when she reaches the corridor, the woman is gone. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaina doesn't trust Sylvanas. Can you really blame her?  
> Sylvanas... has issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my opinion, these first two chapters are a slog to read through, but I honestly couldn't bring myself to rewrite them or edit them any further. The beginning of this AU is boring compared to the rest I have planned :(  
> Sorry if the beginning is difficult to read through. At least the story has taken flight now (though not literally :p ) and it'll get more interesting from chapter 3 onward.
> 
> Also, weekly updates on Thursday will hopefully continue to be a thing!

Three days later, she returns.

 

Friday evening, when Jaina is watching the news, she hears three sharp knocks on her door.

 

‘Just a moment, I’m coming your way!’ she calls out, pausing the tv and hastily ridding herself of the warm, blue blanket she had wrapped her legs into.

 

‘Then hurry.’

 

Jaina freezes. It is the silky voice of the stranger who attacked her earlier that week. More cautiously, she approaches the door, steeling herself before unlocking it. When she throws open the door and is about to yell at the woman to leave, the silver-haired woman says: ‘The address did not work. The house was for sale. And thus my trail has run cold.’

 

The red leather jacket she wore the previous time is gone. Instead, a pair of black, reflecting sunglasses cover her eyes. She wears an equally dark trench coat that sends a new wave of creepy stalker vibes at Jaina.

 

‘None of my business. I haven’t got any more information, get out of my house,’ she seethes, despite the fact that the woman technically isn’t in her house.

 

The stranger takes a deep breath, her silvery locks fluttering in time with her sigh. ‘I came to warn you. The fact that he has disappeared… it could mean that he is about to turn on you, as he did before.’

 

She looks at the name on the door, underneath the defunct doorbell. ‘Lady… Proudmoore?’

 

‘Paint’s chipped. I know I need to get a different label. But yes… Proudmoore. No “lady” though, isn’t that a bit old-fashioned?’

 

A shrug from the woman. ‘It seems to be.’

 

She waits for Jaina to step aside, leaning marginally closer.

 

Despite the panic rising in Jaina’s chest, at the woman’s words and actions, she rebuffs her once more. ‘Arthas went to a different city two years ago. The address was all I had. I haven’t heard a word from him ever since. He’s not plotting. If anything, you are!’

 

‘Then you don’t know him very well. Allow me to explain, for your own safety, Proudmoore.’

 

Those words didn’t do anything to calm her down. Yet the possibilities of Arthas being revealed as a serial killer or something of the like seemed to be quickly increasing. They had also started to outweigh her distrust of the stranger. The woman knows something she doesn’t. So she reluctantly steps aside, letting her into her house once again.

 

‘I see you have made the right decision, Proudmoore.’ As with last time, the woman doesn’t bother to get rid of her coat or shoes. She barrels into the living room, looking back irritated as Jaina shuts the door and hurriedly walks after her.

 

‘Well, I don’t know if I made the right decision yet. Not until you’ve told me what you know,’ she huffs. ‘Also, my name is Jaina. Stop the “Proudmoore”, please. I don’t… like it.’

 

At once, the woman stops in her quick steps and turns around, coat whirling around her. ‘Names have power… _Jaina_. Do not use them so carelessly!’

 

She rights herself up, reaching to the rim of her sunglasses. Slowly, she lifts them and pulls them off, folding them neatly in her hand. The legs of her glasses rattle in her slightly trembling fingers, but when Jaina searches her face, it only radiates the same kind of mild irritation she saw last time. ‘Very well then. You told me your name, so I must repay your trust… as is the law of my homeland. I do try to obey them, every now and then.’

 

Her eyes are tired, moreso than last time. Deep, dark bags underneath them speak of night upon night without sleep, as Jaina knows all to well herself. Still, such changes, over the course of a few days, surprise her. So much so that she nearly misses the woman’s strange words about her “homeland”, and her next sentence.

 

‘My name is Sylvanas.’

 

Marginally, the woman’s face tenses. In silence, she and Jaina stand on opposite sides of the living room, seemingly waiting. When it starts taking too long to be comfortable for Jaina, she tells _Sylvanas,_ which she finds a very strange name, to take a seat on the couch and spit out what she wanted to say about Arthas. ‘But not before getting rid of your coat. I want my couch clean.’

 

Sylvanas chucks it over the backrest, making Jaina bristle. Despite the disorder that the rest of her house is in, she wants her cozy corner with couch and television, to be tidier than the rest. When they are both settled, Jaina anxiously fiddling with her feet on the linoleum and Sylvanas’ expression becoming darker by the second, the latter starts:

 

‘Do you remember his actions, Jaina?’

 

Jaina stiffens, pressing her lips together for a moment as she bans the memories from her mind. No, she is not the frightened little girl anymore. No one is towering over her and no one is yelling at her. ‘Of course I do.’  

 

‘Then you must remember how horrid he was, too?’

 

Trying harder to keep her past experiences away, Jaina nods. ‘If you are here to hammer on that, I can assure you that I know exactly what happened to myself.’

 

Sylvanas’ response is curt and short. ‘No, you do not.’

 

That goes a step too far. Jaina turns to her, ‘I've been free of him for two goddamn years! I know what happened to me. You weren’t even there to see it. And you don't have the right to dig all of that up again!’

 

‘Perhaps I was not.’ Sylvanas’ expression turns bitter. She turns away from Jaina, so her face is covered by shadows. Something looks off, to Jaina. When she looks at the other woman more intently, it seems as if the shadows in her living room don’t completely stick to her face. As if her eyes stand out more clearly than they should, despite the fact that no light shines on them. She also notices that Sylvanas’ skin has an odd, nearly greyish tint in the meager sunlight. Where she seemed strong and athletic in their previous encounter, now she looks tired, no, exhausted, and unhealthy.

 

‘Perhaps I should have,’ Sylvanas continues. ‘But you do not know the full extent of his actions. There are things you should know about him.’

 

She waits, and it infuriates Jaina further. Yet before she can put together a sentence that gets the point across and sounds still somewhat polite, Sylvanas’ striking light blue eyes find hers.

 

‘He isn’t human, Jaina.’

 

Again, that odd stress on her name. She focuses so much on the strange quirk that the meaning of the words only hits her a few seconds later. And to her own surprise, she starts to giggle. It sounds so crazy that she actually laughs. Of all the enticing revelations she had expected, it was something as stupid as this.

 

‘No,’ she says, still chuckling. ‘No. You’re not serious.’

 

To call Sylvanas’ expression serious is a grave understatement. Eyebrows drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line. ‘I mean it, Jaina. Arthas is a demonic being, from a realm different than yours. Do you not remember the things he did to you?’

 

 _Her way of speaking is so old-fashioned,_ Jaina thinks. She sighs, crossing her legs and peering out of the window behind to her left. ‘He was actually very nice in the beginning… giving me all the gifts and attention in the world.’

 

She doesn’t know why she tells this to a stranger, especially one as notably crazy as Sylvanas. However, something about the woman intrigues her still. ‘Yet after that, when I started spending more time trying to reconcile with family and visiting some old friends, he became more and more possessive. So much so that it wasn't as much about my love as it was about just… my presence. But I lived in his house, where could I go?’

 

Laughing bitterly, she recalls: ‘When I finally had the courage to say that I didn't want it anymore, he just dismissed it. And I went back to him, again and again and again. It dragged on for years. So… he might be a complete and utter asshole, but a demon? That's going too far. He left by himself, eventually, you know?’

 

‘Yes, I know. It is why I’m here.’

 

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Jaina contemplates on what to say. As long as she did not speak, Sylvanas wouldn’t say what she was on about. But if she started talking again, Jaina feared that she would only get more confusing nonsense. _She could be his other ex,_ she thinks. _His crazy other ex who now comes to bother me. Great, what have I dumped onto myself now?_

 

‘So… he’s a demon and so are you? Or something?’

 

‘Correct. You are an adept guesser.’ If there is sarcasm in Sylvanas’ words, it’s extremely subtle.

 

‘I don’t believe it,’ Jaina defiantly says. ‘However horrid he might have been… Arthas isn’t a demon, that’s just nonsense.’

 

‘It is the truth.’

 

‘Then show me proof.’

 

A shiver goes through Sylvanas’ being. She snarls, like a predatory animal. ‘Can you not just take my word for it? The proof you want to see is as horrible as he.’

 

‘I don’t care. If you don’t show me, I can’t think anything else than that you’re just a creepy stalker.’ Jaina leans back into the pillows of her couch and crosses her arms.

 

Sylvanas flicks a look at the curtains, the door to the hallway and the television, still on standby. She gets up so quickly that Jaina first instinctively brings up her arms to defend herself, then scrambles to go after her when Sylvanas seemingly walks to the door. Yet the woman harshly pulls the curtains closed and sits back down. She shivers again, and draws her legs up the cushions of the couch. In a crouch, on hands and feet, she says:

 

‘As you wish.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think of this chapter! How do you think Sylvanas will look in her demon form?
> 
> Yes, everyone who knows me on discord already knows how Syl looks, since I literally have her head as my icon rn. Will post that full art next chapter :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The art is by dreamsofjoyfulbunnies on tumblr (Corgi_bliss on ao3)!!
> 
> So Sylvanas' form is revealed. We'll be seeing much more of her like this :)  
> Arthas is a horrible man, as to be expected. Go kick his ass and don't die in the process, Jaina n Sylv!

A thrum goes through Jaina’s being. She cannot fully explain it, but it feels like a bass note, reverberating in her body. A pulse of energy, emanating from Sylvanas. The woman, or supposed demon, pitches forward, catching herself on her hands, which claw into the fabric beneath. Breathing roughly, an unearthly noise comes from her throat. A muted, pained low howl. Jaina scrambles back on the couch. Just when she is about to ask Sylvanas whether it is an act, the blonde lifts her head. Red bleeds into the blue of her eyes, and she growls.

 

Small wisps of flame lick the ridges of her face, ears, hairline and nose. Jaina presses herself against the backrest, now thoroughly terrified. Sylvanas turns her reddened eyes towards her, jumps forward and pins Jaina against the back of the couch.

 

‘Do you see now, Proudmoore?’ she hisses.

 

Teeth. Sharp, inhuman teeth. A double set of fangs, one in the upper jaw, one in the lower. Wispy, long eyebrows. A noise of fear dies in Jaina’s throat as Sylvanas arches her back and something in her body _snaps_ with an audible crack _._ Her ears lengthen into pointy, sharp-tipped appendages. She grips the fabric even tighter, as her bones clatter and claws burst out of her fingertips, growing rapidly, replacing her nails with a splatter of blood. Black streaks, like tears, brand themselves into her cheeks, as she hisses in pain. When she claws at them, her shirt rips at the arms, where bony spikes protrude through the fabric.

 

While Jaina tries to move, Sylvanas’ hold on her is too strong. A smell like singed flesh, burnt plastic and something she can only describe as frost, reaches her nostrils. Sylvanas pants heavily, mouth slightly open, breath spurting out from between her fangs. A broken noise of pain sounds from her throat, and her grip lessens. Reaching to her back with one hand, she claws at the skin, averting her eyes and sitting upright, still pinning Jaina with her bony knees.

 

Too scared to approach, yet concerned about the being’s pain, Jaina makes half a move to sit upright, but recoils when fiery sparks burn away the remnants of Sylvanas’ human disguise. What remains is, Jaina knows no better words for it, truly demonic.

 

Grey skin, clawed hands and feet. Glowing red eyes. Raised cheekbones and a narrow, sharp jawline. Sickly thin body with jutting bones. Her legs nearly seem disjointed, their lengthened ankles making Sylvanas’ posture resembled that of a large dog rather than anything human. Like a gargoyle from an ancient cathedral. Two curled, sharp horns grow out of her forehead, and a tail curves around her legs. Near the end, the tail has an odd kink, like it was broken and healed poorly. Sylvanas turns away, scratching at the skin of her back again, twisting her body.

 

Jaina gasps as she sees what Sylvanas bears on her back.

 

Two long, ragged scars, running from in between her shoulder blades to halfway down her spine. The tops are broader, skin raised in rough, badly healed bumps, with several long streaks marring the grey skin downwards. When she looks closer, she sees that they aren’t even fully healed. Patches of dried, congealed blood sit in between scar tissue, making Jaina nearly gag at the the unsightly wounds.

 

 

Sylvanas wears nothing but rags, as grey and tattered as her skin. She breathes heavily, clearly in pain. A bar of scars seals each of her wrists and ankles. Even if Jaina isn’t familiar with it, she can guess that shackles must have caused them, chipping away at her skin for what must have been months, to cause such damage.

 

A few more shaky breaths quiver the demon’s frame, then she falls off the couch, smacking onto the linoleum.

 

Now Jaina does slip off the couch and kneels down besides Sylvanas. With great apprehension, she reaches forward for a careful touch to the shoulder. The demon’s skin is cold to the touch, like cooled rubber. For a moment, she gets no reply. The transformation had looked very taxing, so she figures that Sylvanas could have fallen unconscious.

 

 _Great,_ Jaina thinks. _Now I don’t only have a demon in my house, but a fainted one at that._

 

She has already had a demon in her house once, she realizes. Arthas, months ago. And as if Sylvanas can smell the subject of her thoughts, she awakens. ‘There is your proof,’ she rasps. ‘And the very reason that I’m after Arthas. He will pay for this.’

 

‘He… he made you like this?’

 

Sylvanas groans, low and muted. She pushes Jaina away and rises on unsteady legs, trembling. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I was twisted, defaced.’

 

Her voice sounds very strained. Jaina can see her chest heave, ribs bobbing up and down underneath her thin skin. ‘H-he broke me. And for that, I will have my- _aargh!’_

 

She falls once again, though this time, Jaina can just catch her before she smacks against the coffee table standing next to the couch. Despite the fact that the demon is half a head taller than Jaina, she weighs next to nothing as Jaina deposits her on the pillows of the couch again. As the human slings Sylvanas’ legs onto the green plush, she growls wearily, but her tail curls in between her legs and she protests no more.

 

Jaina kneels down besides her. ‘You’ll tell me the rest later,’ she says. ‘Yes?’

 

For a brief moment, Sylvanas only glares at her, red eyes glowing. Then she inclines her head in a margin.

 

‘Good. I’ll go and make some food now. You will stay here, no more falling over, no more nonsense words until I’m back.’

 

Shaking her head, Jaina retreats to the kitchen. She remembers the first-aid course she followed when she still worked on her family’s wharf. Those could come in handy later, even though Sylvanas doesn’t appear to have fresh wounds. Still, the lessons taught her that mental assurance is just as important as physical comfort. And so, she opens her fridge and looks at its contents. Disappointing is the right word for them. A sad few vegetables in one of the translucent drawers, half a carton of milk, some leftovers from the previous days. Jaina curses her limited money and gingerly reaches for a plastic tray with some tomato sauce. There are cooled blobs of fat on the surface, and the meat is baked grey.

 

However unappetizing it looks though, it smells alright when she pokes a fork into it and stirs. Somewhat satisfied, Jaina starts cooking water and opens one of the kitchen cabinets to see how much pasta she has left.

 

~~~~~

 

Sylvanas twists on the couch. A dull ache, set deep within her bones, washes in waves over her body, highlighting every accursed scar she bears. The human, Jaina, makes a lot of noise. With it, the faintest whiff of savoury meat wafts into the room where she resides. Though it smells a bit… old and stale.  When she wants to peer into the corridor where Jaina went, her vision blurs and her head feels so heavy that she drops it back onto the couch.

 

Staying disguised for months has weakened her severely. It had deepened the hollow gouges in between her ribs and furthermore, so her bones seemingly clatter against each other with every movement she makes.

 

More noises from Jaina. Metal things clattering against each other and water boiling.

 

Sylvanas fades in and out of consciousness for some time, the muted lights of the room dimming and flaring. Then she blacks out completely. Flashes of blinding blue fill her vision, as she struggles against icy restraints suspending her from a ceiling she cannot see. Her back burns, cold flames lick at her flesh, blistering and blackening.

 

_Sylvanas…_

 

It calls her. The metallic voice, hissing and gnawing at her mind.

 

_Sylvanas!_

 

Growling, she turns away, swaying in her chains, struggling uselessly.

 

‘Hey, are you going to keep kicking or will you stop? You’re ripping apart my couch like this!’

 

Jaina is shaking her. With a hoarse, deep gasp for air, Sylvanas awakens. Jaina’s eyes are deep blue, golden hair framing her concerned face. ‘There you are,’ she murmurs, shoving a warm bowl into Sylvanas’ shaking hands.

 

Half lying down, half resting her back against the firm but soft pillows, Sylvanas peers into the whitish bowl. There is a chip missing from the rim and it irks her a lot.

 

‘Sorry if it’s not eatable. I’m a shitty cook.’ Jaina shrugs apologetically and sits down on a chair she has dragged to the couch. When Sylvanas opens her mouth to speak, she cuts in: ‘Eat first, then more confusing tales.’

 

Knowing nothing better to do, the demon looks at the food presented to her. Globs of lukewarm red sauce, covering a thick layer of freshly boiled dough bits.

 

‘C’mon don’t say you’ve never seen pasta before,’ Jaina says, mouth full with the stuff.

 

‘It has been some time.’

 

Raising a fork full of the questionable food to her mouth, Sylvanas once again smells it before putting it into her mouth. And whatever Jaina says while the metal fork clicks against her upper fangs is lost in the haze of tastes that take over her mind.

 

Before she has even swallowed the first bite, she dunks the fork back into the bowl and gathers another. Any poise that she thought to have left disappears the moment she greedily eats out of the bowl, only stopping her ravenous actions when she scrapes over the ceramic with the tiles of her fork. Only then she notices how heavily she is breathing and that there is sauce smeared all around her mouth. And the fact that Jaina is ogling her weirdly.   


‘Well… you look like you’re starving. Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,’ she says.

  
Sylvanas holds the bowl out to her, which Jaina places in her own. She sets them onto the table, then sighs deeply.

 

‘So… we left off by “Arthas is a demon and now there’s another demon in my house who’s looking for him”.’

 

She rubs her temples and buries her face in her hands for a moment. Then she wipes some stray locks of golden hair out of her face and tiredly regards Sylvanas for a moment. ‘Why are you chasing him again?’

 

It irks Sylvanas that she just forgot that. Yet, she supposes that she has to start the story somewhere.

 

~~~~~

 

The demon licks her lips, cleaning away remnants of sauce. She had eaten like a starved animal, guzzling the food in less than ten minutes. Though, when Jaina looks intently at Sylvanas, she fits the description of “starved animal” perfectly. Now that the demon has eaten, she is huddled up again, tail curling around her slim ankles. Her frame shakes as she shivers, though she tries to stop it by wrapping her arms tighter around herself.

 

Jaina cannot bear the sight, so she excuses herself and quickly grabs a blanket from a cabinet in the bedroom. It is a cheap fleece, nearly toxic green in colour, but when she hands it to Sylvanas, the demon wraps it around herself as if it’s a second skin. After another moment of silence, in which her long ears twitch and swivel downwards in what Jaina perceives as discomfort, she starts:

 

‘Where I come from… you call it “heaven”, if I am correct. I know it as Quel’Thalas. And Arthas too.’

 

Curling her fingers into the bright green blanket, she shudders, licks her cracked lips and scratches at where the frayed edge of her back scars just shows over her shoulder.

 

‘He was once a prince there, of a slightly different race than mine. Blessed with great power and a promising future. Yet the power went to his head.’

 

To Jaina, it sounds exactly like something her ex would to. Just like how her company went to his head, and he clung on to it, too much to be sane. Yet Sylvanas’ words could mean many other things, and she gasps when hearing the word _“heaven”_.

 

‘You’re… an angel?’ she asks in wonder.

 

At the words, Sylvanas sits up a bit straighter, puffing her chest out a little. ‘Was… I was what you could call an angel. A _quel’dorei,_ a highborne.’

 

The term rolls of her tongue in elegance, as Sylvanas’ voice gains a brighter edge when speaking the language of her homeland. As with her name, it sounds beautiful, yet unearthly.

 

But the demon’s… angel’s voice darkens again: ‘He hungered for more power than his own lands could give. And so, he sought to conquer mine.’

 

Her eyes flare, her claws gripping the blanket. Jaina can see it tearing under the strain, but she holds her tongue, because Sylvanas’ expression has turned murderous. Truly, she looks more demon than angel as she growls: ‘I defied him. I protected my people. And I saved who I could… but I paid the price.’

 

She gazes up at Jaina, letting go of the blanket with one hand while keeping a death grip with the other. Digging her claws into the juncture of her neck and shoulder again, scratching at her back where Jaina cannot see it, she continues: ‘When he retreated back to what you call “hell”, he dragged me with him. Years, I spent as his servant, his slave. But when he left for another conquest, I was finally able to free myself. But I want my vengeance, for all that he took from me.’

 

Jaina’s thoughts race. She wants to step forward and stop Sylvanas from clawing open her scars, which she is doing from the looks of it. But at the same time she realizes what Sylvanas is implying. And when she sharply gasps in shock, the demon hisses very same thing.

 

‘His next conquest lead him… here. To your realm. And he spread his name around a few cities, to a few people. I followed. But I was slow, weak. I could not follow him for long, as my body gave up before my mind did. I had to rest, disguise myself so people would not see the monster I am. When I did pick up his trail again, it was in a city called Stratholme. There, they spoke about him having had a girlfriend, who had moved away. _Proudmoore,_ was the name I kept hearing. I used some of your human technology to find a picture of you, and your workspace. Then I followed you when you walked home. And so, my search led me here.’

 

Slowly, Jaina nods. Sylvanas’ actions had been desperate, and a part of her understands. The demon seems to have shriveled into the couch as she spoke. Her eyes seem too sunken, her bones too defined, her scars too deep and her horns too sharp. At the sight, tears threaten to well up in Jaina’s eyes, because yes, she recognizes the kind of terror in the being’s eyes. A part of it still lives inside herself.

 

‘W-what did he do to you?’ she stammers, standing up and sitting down near Sylvanas’ drawn up knees.

 

‘Dragged me down into icy depths, away from where I belong,’ Sylvanas whispers.

 

‘Oh, so you’re a _fallen_ angel.’

 

Sylvanas looks into Jaina’s eyes. Red catches blue and she seems to shrink deeper into the couch, shuddering and twitching. Her breath comes out in short, strained spurts.

 

‘Fallen… is the r-right word for it, yes.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaina hug her pls


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As more of Sylvanas' past gets revealed, Jaina has a hard time deciding who she is going to choose for. Herself and her (finally) stable life, or Sylvanas and her desire for revenge on the creature who wronged them both. 
> 
> Aka more angst! Yeeee
> 
> NOW WITH ART, by ice-fairy-chiruno on Tumblr!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaina likes coffee, it’s canon

Sylvanas awakes to a terrible noise. Grating, high-pitched, too loud for her ears. Her mind is extremely fuzzy, still reeling from sleep. Her stomach feels as if she has eaten too much the evening prior, yet too little at the same time. She feels more than a little bit sick. The noise pierces the room again. It comes from the kitchen. Shaking the fog of sleep from her mind, she speeds out of the living room, stumbling on her still weakened legs. It sounds like a monstrous screech. Had they found her already? Was Jaina in danger?

 

When bursting into the kitchen, she freezes in the door opening. Jaina is standing by the counter, handling an odd apparatus, some sort of translucent canister. A milky liquid swirls inside, and the short woman looks at her. She presses a button on it so it screeches louder, nearly making Sylvanas cover her ears against the piercing sound.

 

‘Good morning, Sylvanas.’

 

~~~~~

 

The fallen angel stands unmoving in the door opening, red eyes shifting from Jaina’s face to the blender.

 

‘What… are you doing?’ she asks.

 

‘Making a smoothie. Breakfast, you know?’

 

With the blanket hanging off her shoulders still, the grey rags on her body and her all around haggard appearance, Sylvanas makes for quite a sight in the morning. Truthfully, Jaina had forgotten about the fallen angel for a moment, until she had seen the sleeping figure on the couch when she stumbled into the living room.

 

She turns the blender off and pours its contents into two mugs, offering one to Sylvanas. With a scrap of angelic poise, the red-eyed woman removes the blanket from around her body and folds it, before placing it onto the counter. Then she takes the mug and carefully sips the smoothie. Jaina knows it is difficult to mess up blending two bananas and some milk, but she has no doubt that she could do it. After draining her own portion quickly, she says:

 

‘Well… I got up half an hour earlier than usual, so I can show you around a bit. Assuming you’re going to stay in my house for a while?’

 

Sylvanas pauses her actions and licks some smoothie off her bottom pair of fangs. Her tongue is forked, Jaina notices. She tries not to be too distracted by how the two ends curl around the teeth.

 

‘If I bother you, I could leave,’ Sylvanas mumbles.

 

‘And die of starvation in a gutter?’

 

‘I will need to resume my search for Arthas.’

 

‘Right… well, you can stay here until you’re going to do… that.’

 

 _Shit,_ Jaina thinks. She had forgotten about it for a brief moment. Naturally, Sylvanas would start her chase anew. Somewhere deep down, she knows that she should aid her, and she wants it, too. Yet, she has finally carved out a small space for herself again, with a somewhat functioning house and job. To throw it all away and join Sylvanas on her quest for vengeance seems like a waste of effort. Jaina takes a deep breath and shoves it aside. First work, then confusing demon nonsense. The evenings seem to be the right time for that.

 

‘You should really take some coffee,’ she says, faking a brisk tone of voice. ‘Coffee is good!’

 

Sylvanas regards the pot with dark coffee in the coffee machine with a long, drawn-up eyebrow.

 

Laughing awkwardly, Jaina fills a cup for her, adding some warm milk and a dash of sugar. Then she buries her face in her own mug, taking a deep whiff of the bitter smell. As she drinks, she finds it not sweet enough. Sylvanas’ face scrunches up in distaste. She puts the cup back onto the counter and shakes her head. It is hard to mess up something made purely by a machine, but Jaina now knows that she is capable of pulling _that_ off too.

 

She gulps down the last of her coffee too quickly and says: ‘I’ll show you the bathroom.’

 

Walking out of the kitchen and into the hallway, she looks behind her for Sylvanas. And she doesn’t miss the way Sylvanas tightly grabs the doorframe on the way out. No, the fallen angel is in no state to leave.

 

Her bathroom is on the small side. Somehow, she has managed to cram a shower cabin and a small tub into the room, with a sink precariously close to the edge of the bath. There are big, light grey tiles on the floor, cold to her bare feet. She and Sylvanas fit a bit tightly in the leftover space between the washtable and the shower cabin.

‘You can go ahead and take a shower. I will get some clothing for you. Please don’t spend more than 10 minutes under the hot water. Costs a lot of money otherwise.’

 

Sylvanas nods, taking in the ugly bubble-shaped decorative stickers on the plastic walls of the shower cabin. The revulsion in her eyes makes Jaina near painfully aware of how choppily she has cobbled the furniture in her house together. At least the shower cabin isn’t see-through.

 

‘The left knob is for cold water, right one’s for hot.’ With a big sigh, she goes to her bedroom, hearing Sylvanas turn on the shower behind her.

 

Jaina pulls the blanket taut, neatly arranging her two pillows, one with anchor print, one plain white, underneath it. Then she opens her closet and peers inside. Sylvanas is taller than her, she realizes, remembering how the demon stood besides her the evening prior. She picks some clothing out of her drawer with underwear. _Boxers should fit her,_ she thinks, throwing a light blue pair on the bed behind her. An equally stretchy, black pair of sweatpants soon follows. Shoving aside a white crop top with golden edges, because even she wouldn’t fit into that anymore, much less the tall demon, Jaina tries to select a suitable sports bra.

 

‘I see you have been-’

 

‘ _Aaah!_ God don’t do that!’ Jaina shrieks, whirling around, banging her elbow into the closet and glaring at Sylvanas. The fallen angel is clearly not impressed, despite nearly scaring Jaina out of her mind.

 

‘I see you have supplied me with some clothing. This was not necessary, Jaina.’

 

Rubbing her painful elbow, Jaina looks up and down Sylvanas’ figure. She has put her rags back on. In the relative cleanliness of her bedroom, the things look even more unsightly. Grey, with fraying edges. Dirtied with splotches of dark and crusty _stuff._ Jaina desperately hopes that it isn’t blood, yet knows that it probably is. Sylvanas takes a step towards the bed.

 

‘No.’ Jaina stops her in her tracks. ‘You’re not wearing those things. They are gross… and old, and… just plain disgusting. Here, put this on.’

 

Stuffing the sweatpants and sports bra into Sylvanas’ hands, Jaina then hastens out of the bedroom. She is blushing, she realizes when she enters the bathroom. Why in the world is she blushing? It’s stupid, perhaps out of embarrassment. A lengthy, cold shower helps a little, though her ears still feel warm and red when she turns off the water. When she slips into her pyjamas again and gets back to the bedroom, towel around her wet hair, Sylvanas is sitting on the corner of the bed. She has discarded her rags, now in a gross pile on the ground, which Jaina barely manages to avoid stepping in. She is wearing the black sweatpants and purple sports bra. However, the similarly purple shirt that Jaina gave her is entangled in her horns. One has ripped through the fabric completely, the other sticks through the neck opening. The tip of a long ear is barely visible through an arm hole.

 

‘I require some assistance,’ Sylvanas states, voice as monotone as she can, a little irritation bleeding into her words.

 

Jaina is very glad that she isn’t able to see the way she can barely hold back a laugh. ‘I should’ve thought about this,’ she says, shaking her head.

 

‘You should have, indeed.’

 

As Jaina works the ripped shirt off the fallen angel’s head, she wonders how Sylvanas even got her ear stuck as it is. The t-shirt won’t come off Sylvanas’ left horn when the right ear is still in the arm hole. Thus she grasps the ear and lifts the shirt around it up, by grabbing the fabric of the right shoulder. Sylvanas hisses harshly and Jaina recoils.

 

‘I’m sorry!’ she yelps. ‘Sorry if that was painful!’

 

‘Sensitive, not painful. Don’t do it again.’

 

Sylvanas grabs the shirt and tears it off her horn, ripping another tear through the fabric. Having made a hole big enough to fit around her horn, she succeeds in freeing herself and throws the garment on the ground with the discarded rags. ‘Do you have anything else? Something that doesn’t tear the moment I put it on?’

 

Briefly, Jaina wonders how long she has sat there with the shirt stuck on her head. The demon quirks her eyebrows as Jaina turns to the closet, almost as if to tell her to hurry up. However much Jaina dislikes the attitude, once glance at the clock on the bedside cabinet tells her that she is already going to be late for work. She quickly grabs a purple-white streaked flannel blouse from the shelves and throws it in Sylvanas’ general direction. It colours badly with her grey skin, but Jaina is too hurried to care.

 

‘There’s bread in the kitchen cabinet above the sink. Should be some cheese and ham in the fridge still. Try not to make too much mess,’ she says as she grabs her own clothing. ‘Well, out of the bedroom with you! I need to dress and I’m late.’

 

A few minutes later, when she is tying her shoes and shrugging into her blue jacket at the same time, she calls out to Sylvanas, who had retreated to the living room: ‘Please try to stay out of sight! I don’t need _more_ demons in my house.’

 

~~~~~

 

Sylvanas closes the last button of the blouse. It’s a lot softer on her skin than the rags. Unfortunately, the human clothing she had used as part of her glamour spell melted away with that disguise. A shame, because however fake they were, consisting only of arcane energy, she had grown fond of the red leather jacket especially.

 

With the bit of food in her stomach, the pain in her bones ebbs away a little. The haze of exhaustion still lingers in her mind, however. It is almost as if she cannot get the sound of creaking ice and scraping chains out of her ears. After the door closes behind Jaina, she hears the key click in the lock. Now she is locked into the house. Wondering whether it is intentional or not, she slinks out of the living room and into the hallway. Would Jaina imprison her into the house on purpose? Now, she cannot leave, even if she is found by any number of her enemies.

 

Slowly, the fallen angel walks to the front door. Turning around, she rests against the solid wood, taking in the hallway, memorizing. On the far end, the living room. On the right side, two doors. Bedroom, then bathroom. Left side, one unknown door which is locked when she tries to open it. The door to the kitchen follows. In the kitchen itself, there is another door, leading directly to the living room. It is open. Jaina has kept it open for as long as Sylvanas has been in her house.

 

She walks back through the corridor, steadying herself on the kitchen counter before making her way towards the bedroom. Jaina had been right when saying that she was in no state to leave. The measure of rest she allowed herself to get in the evening and night seems to have made her aching body more obvious to all her senses. Donning her human disguise is most likely impossible now, until she has rested enough. The bed looks very attractive. But it smells like Jaina. The entire house smells like her. Sylvanas is used to the smells of frost, metal, unholy magic, blood, rot and disease. Jaina smells soft, nearly pacifying, but unfamiliar. The couch will have to do, for now.

 

Sylvanas collects her rags and the ripped t-shirt from the floor. In the kitchen, she deposits it in the garbage bin and opens the refrigerator, looking for the things Jaina mentioned. The gust of cold air makes her skin crawl. Yet it stops at her skin, not settling in every cell of her body like Arthas’ accursed powers. A few minutes later, she has a decent stack of bread with cheese and ham. The mug with coffee still stands on the counter. Sylvanas thinks about emptying it into the sink, but that would be wasteful. She sips it again, finding it just as bitter as the last time. She doesn’t understand why Jaina seems to like coffee so much, so she leaves it on the counter.

 

Nestling on the couch, she wraps the blanket around herself before starting to eat.

 

~~~~~

 

‘You seem distracted, Jaina. You’ve been gazing out of the window for five minutes now.’

 

‘I’m sorry, Modera,’ Jaina says, hastily averting her eyes from the street below. ‘Just a little somewhere else with my mind.’

 

She starts typing again, hammering more administration details into the database of the Kirin Tor company. The older woman gives her a long stare before leaving for her own office. She pauses in the door opening, turning her head marginally in Jaina’s direction.

 

‘Jaina, what’s on your mind? Are you in love or something?’

 

‘I-’

 

‘Please, do not answer that.’

 

Jaina starts blushing, mentally cursing her body for reacting in such falsehood. ‘Thanks, Modera.’

 

Her boss is just trying to make her feel at ease. And she knows it, too. It doesn’t make her stop thinking about the issue at hand, though. When walking home, her mind is still pondering about whether or not she should help Sylvanas any further than patching her up until she’s healthy enough. Of course, Arthas has wronged them both. Colossally, even. _Then again_ , Jaina realizes, _what has he truly taken from me? A few years of my time, wasted? A house that was never really mine? A love I never should have believed in and depended on?_

 

He had taken more from Sylvanas. Her homeland, her body, her entire being. Those things warranted revenge, not the human drabbles that befell Jaina.

 

When she returns to her house, she finds the fallen angel on the couch, reading a week-old newspaper. A discarded plate and a surprisingly empty coffee mug lay next to her on the floor. Irked, Jaina grabs them to put away. Sylvanas’ mess bothers her more than her own. The woman acknowledges her with barely more than a nod of her head.

 

‘You could bother to say something,’ Jaina snaps. ‘It’s not like your voice will make me spontaneously evaporate.’

 

If Sylvanas answers, her words are lost in the clangour of the plate and mug when Jaina sets them onto the kitchen counter.

 

The rest of the evening goes much like the previous one. Jaina shoves two frozen pizzas into the oven and cleans up the kitchen. Then she walks to the window and opens it a tiny bit, to let some fresh air into the room. Sylvanas sleeps, curled up into a ball of miserableness. Her ears are pressed flatly against her skull and she twitches and grimaces in her dreams. Jaina picks up the blanket from where it fell onto the floor due to Sylvanas’ tossing around. When she spreads it out over the fallen angel’s prone form, her red eyes open on a slit. They are unfocused, pupils dilated, and Jaina doesn’t even know if Sylvanas can see her clearly.

 

She sighs and proceeds with making dinner. Demons are tiring. Especially the starved kind that does nothing but eat, sleep and irritate her. And, on top of that, ruin her clothing. Yet before her annoyance can turn bitter, she remembers just who the cause of Sylvanas’ sorry state is. She tries to imagine Arthas with the same horns and grey skin as Sylvanas has. It makes him look all the more revolting, and Jaina quickly stops thinking about it. She removes her laptop from her small table, places two glasses of water onto it and gets the pizzas from the oven. After haphazardly cutting them into eight slices each, she brings them into the living room. Sylvanas is sitting half upright, removing strands of hair from her eyes.

 

‘Come sit, we’re not eating on the couch again,’ Jaina says as she settles on a chair herself.

 

Sylvanas joins her, grabbing a slice of pizza before she is properly seated. The fervour with which she eats, stuffing the slice into her mouth and tearing off large bites with her fangs, puts Jaina off so much so that she doesn’t start eating immediately.

 

‘What is on your mind?’ Sylvanas asks. At least she had the decency to swallow before talking.

 

‘Sorry. It’s just… my work,’ Jaina lies, grabbing pizza for herself.

 

‘Your work?’

 

‘Yes… I work for the company of a woman named Modera, as you may know.’ It still annoys her that Sylvanas could find her so easily, but she decides not to go further into that.

 

‘Doing the administration is my job. It's boring, tedious, takes absolutely forever and I often overwork to get enough money. But it pays, and I can live from it, just about. So it's fine, really. Took me long enough to put the pieces of myself back together after that asshole left me, so I'm not complaining about work.’

 

_(Art by ice-fairy-chiruno on Tumblr!!)_

 

Sylvanas has gone back to eating, seemingly having lost interest already. With another sigh, Jaina nibbles on a pizza slice as well. While she knows that she has to speak about the issue of helping the fallen angel further, reluctance is still winning from compassion in her mind. Yes, Arthas has destroyed her and deserves what is coming for him. But that is not Jaina’s agenda. No, it’s business between supernatural creatures, and she isn’t too keen on uprooting her entire life again. It also sounds very dangerous, and she wants to stay in one piece. And preferably sane.

 

She is still mulling over it when settling next to Sylvanas on the couch.

 

‘Did he ever give you a reason for leaving?’ the fallen angel asks.

 

Nodding, Jaina answers: ‘Oh, yes. Sort of?’

 

Recalling the events of years ago brings a bitter taste to her mouth. She focuses on the lines of the linoleum while saying: ‘He wanted to move to a city called Stratholme. Never really told me why, but I was shaken out of my infatuation for him because of it. It was too far away from Dalaran, and I didn't want to leave the city where I studied.’

 

It’s good that she stayed in Dalaran. The city is nice, far enough away from her family in Boralus, too. Besides, she heard about weird accidents in Stratholme, barely a few weeks after Arthas moved there. Explosions in industrial factories, possible terrorist attacks. The exact details of the news she read are a bit of a blur, considering the state she was in after her break-up.

 

‘Ah, but I know why he went there.’ Sylvanas’ ears swivel in Jaina’s direction. The muted lights of the room draw dark shadows over her sharp features.

 

‘Stratholme is one of the gateways between your realm and his… and mine, too.’ she says. ‘We had many agents working there to keep an eye on things, and make sure that no malicious creatures passed through the bridge between the realms. I was never one of them, but some family members were. Farstriders, we called those special forces.’

 

Clenching her claws into the blanket, her whole body goes rigid. Her voice drops an octave, becoming raspy as she continues: ‘He slaughtered them. All of them.’

 

Jaina gasps sharply, in shock.

 

‘And so, he claimed the gateway for himself, free of obstacles. Now he could finally get revenge on us, who threw him out of Quel’thalas for his insubordination and ruthless thirst for power. Without the guards at the bridges between realms… without the forces that had beaten him back before… without me… there was no way of stopping him before he had marched well into our lands.’

 

‘I- I thought he went to your realm first, then to… this one?’

 

‘He did. He came back to mine after failing here.’

 

‘Failing?’

 

Sylvanas’ face brightens a little bit. She tilts her head towards Jaina and smiles eerily, baring both her gleaming pairs of fangs. ‘Whatever plans he had, you seem to have spoiled. Arthas is a jealous man, quickly turning to simmering and brooding if he doesn’t get what he wants.

 

‘Or taking his anger out on whoever is around him,’ Jaina sighs. ‘I’m aware.’

 

Nodding, Sylvanas hums quietly. ‘Indeed. My broken tail is a testament to that. Perhaps he wanted to slaughter innocents here too.’

 

Shrugging, she mumbles: ‘And so he went back to his old plan, conquering Quel’thalas. Only this time, I was with him.’

 

Jaina remembers the shackle scars on Sylvanas’ wrists. She nearly reaches out to grasp the fallen angel’s hands, but doesn’t prevail when Sylvanas snarls and hisses lowly.

 

‘Silvermoon, our capital, did not stand a chance. I remember how the streets ran red with blood when I came to my senses for the briefest of moments.’ She reaches for her back again, undoubtedly to claw at her scars. ‘Next thing I knew, I was hanging from a ceiling in his Citadel. I suppose I must have pissed him off somehow during the invasion.’

 

‘Stop that,’ Jaina sharply says. This time, she does reach out and grabs Sylvanas’ arm, drawing it away from her back. Instantly a growl rips from Sylvanas’ throat, and she jerks her arm out of Jaina’s grasp, scraping her skin with the spikes on her lower arm.

 

‘Ow! That hurt!’ Inspecting the red streak now running over her palm, Jaina glares at Sylvanas. No blood had been drawn, but the bruise stings.

 

‘Do not touch me, then.’

 

‘Only if you’ll stop scratching open your scars. It’s disgusting, you will get blood on my furniture, and they only get worse if you don’t let them heal.’ Jaina reaches for Sylvanas’ shoulder again, laying her hand on the cold skin.

 

‘Let me,’ she snaps when the fallen angel hisses at her. She unbuttons the flannel blouse and takes a look. A few drops of blood pearl at the top of the scars. Frowning, she tells Sylvanas to sit still and remain still, as she gets up from the couch. When she returns a few minutes later with some disinfectant wipes from the first-aid kit she keeps in her bathroom, it appears as if Sylvanas has listened. When Jaina brushes the wipe over the skin near the shoulder blades, the fallen angel bristles and shivers, but presses her lips together and remains silent.

 

When she eventually does speak, Jaina has moved on to the other scar, where there is some dried blood from Sylvanas’ earlier scratching.

 

‘They burnt, do you know that?’

 

There is a kind of vulnerability in her voice that Jaina hasn’t heard yet. It sounds very uncharacteristic, but she vastly prefers it over Sylvanas’ usual snide tone.

 

‘Your wings?’ she asks, as kindly as she can, while ghosting her fingers over the scars.

 

~~~~~

 

Humming a confirmation, Sylvanas nods.

 

Jaina is touching her. _Touching._ Her hands are so very soft and warm. Sylvanas cannot help but shiver when one finger trails downwards, following the longest streak of several. When the touch stops for a moment, skipping over the fabric of the borrowed sports bra, she longs for it to return. Cursing the weak little sigh that escapes her, she straightens and leans into Jaina’s touch, just a tiny bit. Her movements are soft, yet determined to cover every inch of scar. She wonders why. Why Jaina does it. Without thinking, since her mind is overtaken by _things_ that stir up feelings she doesn’t want to contemplate, she speaks again.

 

‘Do… do you wish to know?’

 

‘Yes,’ comes the immediate answer. Not even a question as to what exactly she wishes to tell Jaina.

 

After a quick look over her shoulder, where Jaina’s eyes are set determinedly, and very blue in the soft orange and yellow lights of the room, she clears her throat and tells.

 

She tells Jaina the story from the moment that she fell to her knees in the yellow-flowered fields of her homeland, because this woman knows her pain. She tells Jaina about the sword that ripped through her body and spilled warm blood onto the soil beneath her. She tells of how desperately she jerked herself free, as the blade tore from her flesh. How she wanted to fly away, yet could not manage more than a few sad flaps of her wings before Arthas grabbed her by the ankle and threw her onto the ground once again.

 

Jaina does not speak. She only gasps softly and presses her hand more firmly into the scar tissue, confirming her warm touch and grounding Sylvanas, as her mind threatens to be swallowed by the past.

 

So Sylvanas continues. Arthas dragged her back to the bridge between realms that he had created, while her blood flowed freely and cold consumed her body. All the while he mocked her. The defender of Quel’thalas, the Ranger-General, the valiant soldier, who had failed her people. And when he threw her off the bridge, she fell down.

 

‘The space between realms isn’t pleasant for the body. I saw… flashes of the worlds. The lush nature of Teldrassil, where the Kaldorei roam. Suramar’s dark spires. The grand temples of the Dragons, the cities of your homeworld. I - _huh_.’

 

Jaina’s hand comes to rest on her shoulder. The woman is no longer just stroking over her back. She is now sitting next to Sylvanas, half-embracing her, an arm firmly around her waist. The sheer closeness makes Sylvanas’ hairs stand on end, but something much warmer blooms in her body as Jaina whispers:

 

‘Go on, tell me. Tell me what he did to you.’

 

Her voice sounds as if she is on the brink of tears, and Sylvanas must swallow back her own. Cursing her pathetic weakness, she glances at Jaina. Her eyes are still steely, golden hair flowing around her face. A determined expression is set on her face as she nods once again, encouraging Sylvanas to continue.

 

‘I first felt the fire when I had fallen past the higher realms. The ones that you summarize as “heaven”. Quel’thalas, Teldrassil, Suramar… all disappeared from my sight as I plummeted down. Then suddenly, my wings were lit aflame. I screamed, but my voice faded in the emptiness around me. As I fell, the speed caused the feathers to catch fire. It felt as if was slowly being flayed, when the flames engulfed me and burnt my wings and my back. You cannot imagine the agony I experienced.’

 

Sylvanas closes her eyes, unable to look at Jaina as she shivers and, on instinct, reaches to her back. Yet Jaina grabs her hand and brings it back down onto the blanket. She could easily stop it, but Sylvanas doesn’t protest when Jaina’s own hand replaces hers on her back.

 

‘When I crashed into the lowest realm, I had scarcely opened my eyes before I looked into his again. As a final testament to his victory, and to my defeat, he grabbed me by my neck as if I weighed nothing. I smacked into ice, below me. Then he pressed his iron armoured foot into my back-’ her voice breaks and she takes a ragged breath.

 

‘- and grasped my wing by the joint, on the ridge of my shoulder blade. His gauntlet dug into my blackened skin, and he tore. Perhaps he intended it, perhaps he was just angry. Whatever the case, my skin ripped apart, the bone broke and the entire wing came off with streaks of skin still attached. Needless to say, he repeated the process on the other side.’

 

‘How could he?’ Jaina whispers, pressing the tips of her fingers into the top of the scar, nearly exactly where the icy touch of the Lich King had torn her skin. Ironically, it looks a lot like a shooting star.

 

‘Power consumed him, Jaina, he-’

 

‘No.’ Drawing the blanket up to wrap around Sylvanas’ shoulders, Jaina repeats: ‘How could he? It doesn’t matter _why._ Just the fact _that_ he did it.’

 

They sit side by side for a few more minutes. Nothing more needs to be said. Sylvanas fights the impulse to either nuzzle into Jaina’s hair or sprawl over her lap. Those things belong in a time long ago, when she could still afford to be careless. Thus she settles for taking deep breaths and getting a bit lost in the feeling of Jaina’s hand caressing her skin.

Eventually, Jaina stops, clearing her throat and announcing that she has to do a bit of work still. As she turns to the living room and stands up, Sylvanas makes half a move to go after her. Yet she quickly stops herself from acting like a weakling. Still, the warmth from the blanket doesn’t completely replace the warmth of Jaina’s touch.

 

‘Don’t worry, I’m just grabbing my laptop. I’ll come sit there in a few moments again!’

 

 _Oh._ Jaina had seen her desperate move. Sylvanas shrinks into the blanket, ashamed of herself. She is already starting to regret telling Jaina so much. Especially since, however taken the human was by the story, she didn’t promise anything related to helping Sylvanas on her quest.

 

However, that doesn’t stop her from curling around Jaina when she sits down, computer on her lap. The light of the screen stings in her eyes, so she closes them and shuffles around to get comfortable. She thinks to hear Jaina laugh softly.

 

With her arms under her head, her feet on one arm rest of the couch and the crown of her head pressed against the other, Jaina’s body slightly in contact with her stomach, Sylvanas allows herself a moment of weakness. Her tail is relaxing from where it had tensed between her legs during the story she told. As Jaina’s fingers tap away on the keyboard, Sylvanas slowly gets lost in the rhythm, floating off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who’s looking for syl, any guesses?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas had been worried for a few chapters that there were people coming after her. Now, they're finally here. Rooftop battles ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks [Katzenjammers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzenjammers/pseuds/Katzenjammersl) and [Elrojocapucha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrojocapucha/pseuds/elrojocapucha) for beta reading! I haven't written a battle scene in forever so I needed the beta readers XD
> 
> Jaina stop pining dammit...

 

Jaina is finally home. Late, once again. The two hours of overtime she worked were necessary, she tells herself; a little bit of extra money to help her feed an additional mouth. Modera had shaken her head, but had allowed her to stay until she had nearly fallen asleep at her desk.

 

As she unlocks the door, she shouts into the hallway. ‘I’m home! Sorry for being late, I had to work a bit longer because of you. Need more money… and such.’

 

She opens the door to the living room. Sylvanas is nowhere to be found. Not on the couch where she often resides, not by the table, not in the kitchen either. Concerned, she enters the bedroom. Still, no fallen angel in sight.

 

‘Sylvanas!’ she calls out, now very worried. ‘Where… where did you go?’

 

Hurriedly, she walks back into the living room, dropping her bag on the table and whirling around when a gust of cold air sets her hairs on end. But it’s only the wind, coming in from the open window.

 

_Did Sylvanas leave the window open? Thought she wanted to stay hidden._

 

When she closes it, and glances down at the street below, she has to push an eerie thought to the back of her mind. No, Sylvanas can’t have fallen down, otherwise there would be police and a crowd of people on the scene. She also can’t have suddenly sprouted wings and flown off. At least, Jaina thinks that it would be impossible.

 

_Maybe… maybe my good cares have strengthened her enough to heal herself?_

 

She doesn’t know how angelic magic works.

 

_Maybe she just went on a little test flight?_

 

Staying hopeful is something she was never good at. But for a moment, she dares to imagine Sylvanas as an angel. With those brilliant silver eyes she had in her human form, a healthy flush to her skin, a wonderfully bright smile. And a magnificent pair of white wings, unfolding from her shoulders, lifting Sylvanas into the air with all the power and grace of a heavenly being. Would her feathers be soft, she wonders. How would it feel to touch them, ever so slightly?

 

Shaking her head, Jaina dismisses the thought. It’s silly to think such things, she tells herself and moves to shut the window. Lightning cracks the sky, making Jaina jump in fright. She curses herself for her stupid reaction before closing the window and turning back around. Then she turns back around. The sky is clear, not a cloud in sight. There can’t have been lightning. Jaina peers out of the window, looking for a source of the bolt. Another streak crosses the sky, right above her head. It’s a violent kind of purple light, sparking when it hits the edge of the roof. Her neighbours don’t seem to have noticed it.

 

From the corner of her eye, Jaina sees something move on the roof. A vague shadow against the night sky. There is a person on the roof. A purple light glows near them, moves when they lift their hand. No, it’s _in_ their hand. Jaina watches in bewilderment as they toss it further onto the roof, out of her sight. A new flash of purple light follows.

 

Then she hears a muted cry from a voice she knows well. Sylvanas.

 

The person, though Jaina isn’t sure if it’s a person anymore, now turns their head to Jaina. Their eyes glow. She bolts inside, closing the window, breathing hard.

 

Sylvanas is on the roof. Sylvanas is in possible danger. There are other beings on the roof as well. Too many possibilities, nearly all dangerous. Yet, against her better judgement, Jaina grabs the keys from her pocket and starts running up to the roof. When she sprints through the hallway, she steps on something sharp. The spare keys that she had given to Sylvanas in the morning. Something is definitely amiss, she cannot imagine the fallen angel to be so careless with her stuff. The gallery is cold at night, the chill of the wind goes straight through her blue sweater. As she runs up the fire escape, the only way to the roof, she thinks she can hear voices and footsteps above her.  
  
Her lungs burn. She isn’t used to running like this. Another flash of purple alights the last steps of the fire escape. Jaina scrambles to a halt, because the door up to the roof is hanging from its hinges. Pressing herself against the wall, in the shadow of the broken door, she sneaks closer to the entrance. Her breath is racing, heart beating just as quickly. She takes a tentative step, then immediately recoils when something smacks onto the rooftop with a dull thud. A body. It’s a body and Jaina nearly shrieks. Then it moves, flipping onto its feet with a surprising amount of grace. The figure, revealed to be young woman with blueish hair, jumps up. And flaps her wings to propel herself into the air.

 

Jaina gasps. Angels.

 

‘Don’t let her get away! Maiev, help me!’ the woman says.

 

In her curiosity, Jaina carefully peeks around the broken door. Now she can see the full extent of what is happening on the roof. She counts four angels in a glance, but cannot keep her eyes on them for long. Sylvanas sprints from one end of the roof to the other, dodging another bolt of magic. Behind her, another angel. Sylvanas whirls around, ducking under the weapon of her assailant and delivering a brutal punch. She picks up the sword that her opponent drops and faces the other three, snarling.

 

Jaina wants to help her, but she would stand no chance. Desperately, she looks for a way she can aid Sylvanas.

 

Then the fallen angel growls, eyes flaring red. She crosses blades with two at once, keeping them off her with practiced ease. Yet her shoulder is already bloody, and she still looks unsteady on her legs. Charging at the blue haired woman, who has whipped out a bow and nocks an arrow, she slashes with the sword. Yet the angel dodges easily, flying up and firing her arrow. It grazes Sylvanas’ leg, and brings her off balance long enough for another angel to attack.

 

~~~~~

 

Human newspapers are boring. Full of stories about violence and despair. Yet they pass the time. Sylvanas reads from the stack of them that Jaina keeps on one of her cabinets. Perhaps, she thinks, the woman is just too lazy to clean them up. Or too busy. Taking a deep breath, she shuffles around on the couch, finding a slightly more comfortable position. Her muscles don’t hurt quite as much, and she can close her eyes for a few minutes without immediately falling asleep and drifting away into fever dreams. Even her scars don’t ache so badly anymore, though they still sting and itch. When she looked at herself in the mirror, in the morning, she thought to see a little bit more meat on her ribs than a few days prior. Her tail twitches against the blanket. Sylvanas grabs it and rubs over the kink at the end. When the Lich King broke it, purely out of spite, the injury had left her limping and out of balance for days. And the bone never healed very well, a sad bend was left in the tail.

 

It’s starting to get dark outside. Sylvanas wonders where Jaina is. Usually she is home when dusk falls.

 

The sound of Jaina coming home is usually enough to wake her up, since the human is anything but graceful when she barrels into the house. Sylvanas figures that it couldn’t hurt to sleep a bit more. She puts away the newspaper and curls up.

 

Sleep is not kind to her, this time. She is falling once again, flames licking her flesh as realms zip by at lightning speed. The freezing air of Icecrown Citadel envelops her, as Arthas’ fortress approaches. This time, however, she does not collide with the ground outside the castle. No, she is impaled by one of the ice spikes surrounding it instead. Blood forces its way out of her throat, as she flaps her broken wings uselessly against the ice. Struggling against the encroaching darkness, fighting against the spike through her chest, her eyes roll wildly in their sockets. She looks to the side, her head averted to the ground below, as the strength leaves her body.

 

Jaina. Jaina is lying beneath her, impaled just like she is. She is alive still, blue eyes pleading as her mouth opens and closes in soundless gasps for air. Blood soaks her clothing where the ice spike protrudes from her waist.

 

Sylvanas reaches out to her. Only blood comes out of her mouth when she tries to scream. A gust of the Lich King’s icy magic washes over her.

 

With a ragged breath, she awakens, flailing wildly for a few moments until the soothing orange lights of the living room make her aware of where she is. Groaning, she stretches out on the couch, rubbing her eyes and waiting until her chest stops heaving. She envisions the Lich King in her mind’s eye.

 

‘You will pay,’ she bitterly says. ‘You will pay for what you took from me.’

 

The feeling of his magic washes over her again. Cold, unnatural, screaming at every cell in her body to obey. Shivering, she clasps her arms around herself and waits until her mind stops torturing her. But it doesn’t stop. With a sigh, Sylvanas gets up from the couch, making her way to the kitchen to get some refreshment. Still, the unnerving wave of magic sticks to her skin, not letting her go.

 

It comes again, when she taps a glass of water. Snarling, she sets the glass aside and shakes her head. Once more, a wave of arcane energy washes over her.

 

Sylvanas whirls around to the window. It comes from outside. Carefully, she moves the curtain aside so she can just see outside, hopefully without being spotted. There is nothing out of the ordinary, not on the streets below, not in the skies. Then she hears the voices.

 

‘It must be here somewhere. Only her presence could have caused the spike in magic.’

 

‘You sure?’

 

‘My mother is not wrong! What else could it have been?’

 

Sylvanas shrinks back inside. _Kaldorei_. Feathermoon and her damned Warden. They have found her. She knew that they had been chasing her ever since that damned day. When Arthas forced her to invade their realm. Yet she thought that they wouldn’t track her all the way here. But they have.

 

She must face them, though she knows for certain that they are here to kill her. She cannot bring Jaina into this mess, she cannot endanger her. With a few deep breaths, she calms her shaking hands somewhat. The flannel blouse she wears still smells a bit like Jaina. She closes the upper two buttons before grabbing the keys that Jaina left on the table. After unlocking the front door, she throws them into the hallway before stepping outside.

 

In the shadows of the gallery, she slinks from dark spot to dark spot, making her way to the far end. The Kaldorei are on the roof, so she must get there too. There is a winding metal staircase at the end of the gallery. Good. She can use any way upwards now. At the end, there is a short corridor and a metal door.

 

Sylvanas grasps the rim of it, kneeling and wrenching the door upwards. The days of rest and good care have done wonders. Her strength has returned, somewhat. If she was at the height of her power, the door would have been no issue. Now, it takes quite a bit of effort, but she is able to break it out of its hinges, partially. Metal shrieks underneath her hands as it falls open. A gust of cold wind hits her in the face. She steps out onto the grey concrete of the roof, claws on her bare feet scraping against the surface.

 

On the edge of the roof stand two beings. Their wings form sharp silhouettes against the light from the street below them. Sylvanas cannot take three steps before they turn around.

 

‘I told you so,’ the smaller one says. Her blue hair glitters in the low light. Shandris Feathermoon, general of the Kaldorei forces.

 

The other one only hums lowly. Her horned armour, silver and gold, cuts an intimidating figure. She is far taller than her companion. Her wings are ragged, missing feathers and coloured a wilting grey. Maiev Shadowsong, as her name is, brandishes her glaive.

 

Yes, Sylvanas now knows for certain, they mean to kill her. The flames of Teldrassil still flicker in their eyes. She snarls, sliding her left foot back, taking a fighting stance.

 

_Would Jaina say that it wasn’t my fault? If she knew what I had done?_

 

It’s a story she hasn’t shared with Jaina yet. She could not bring herself to, the evening prior. For a fleeting moment, she thinks back to the warm hand, soothing her scars.

 

‘ _Anu’dorini Talah!_ ’

 

Sylvanas whips around, and ducks just underneath a silver blade. In a reflex, she brings her right fist up. It collides with the Sentinel’s chin. The woman falls backwards, onto the concrete. There’s another Kaldorei behind her. Two sentinels, then Shandris and Maiev. Sylvanas knows she cannot win against four of them, not unarmed. And she also knows that Tyrande cannot be far behind. The Night Warrior would not let others exact her vengeance.

 

Shandris has nocked an arrow. It whistles in the air, coming at Sylvanas far too quickly to dodge. A flash of pain sears her left shoulder as it is embedded in flesh. Blood soaks through Jaina’s flannel. She grunts in pain, whirling around and diving to the side to avoid a second arrow. Magic crackles in the air behind her, as one of the Sentinels readies a bolt in her hand.   
  
It singes her hair. Sylvanas jumps to avoid several bolts in quick succession. She is panting, already tired. The pain in her bones returns when she snarls at the Kaldorei. They draw their swords, unrelenting. Reaching for the arrow in her shoulder and snapping off the shaft, Sylvanas groans as her vision blurs for a brief moment. Jaina’s words, that she was in no state to leave, echo in her head.

 

Shandris charges from the left, her two soldiers from the right. Maiev follows them like a vengeful shadow. Sylvanas sidesteps, narrowly avoiding the General’s rune-inscribed blade. With her claws, she rakes over purple skin, where the leather armour leaves an opening. Shandris shrieks. She stands still, long enough for Sylvanas to grab the rim of her armour and fling her across the roof. Maybe she can beat them, just maybe.

 

‘Don’t let her get away! Maiev, help me!’

 

Or perhaps not. Shandris gets up just as quickly as she had thrown her, propelling herself into the air with a graceful wingstroke. Sylvanas feels jealousy spike in her chest.

 

She runs to the other end of the roof, to put distance between herself and the Kaldorei. The Sentinels chase after her. A streak of purple energy barely misses her, she feels its heat through the sweatpants she wears. One of the soldiers slashes her blade in a silver arc through the air, but her technique is sloppy. Sylvanas dodges it easily, injured as she is. Satisfaction brings a small grin to her face when her fist collides with the Sentinel’s temple. The sword clatters to the ground. She picks it up. Now she might stand a chance. Baring her fangs, she faces the remaining three.

 

Shandris nocks another arrow, while Sylvanas sprints at her, growling. She jumps, slashing with the sword, hoping to hit the General before she can fire. But Shandris has one advantage; her wings. With a single flap, she is off the ground, letting her arrow fly. It grazes Sylvanas’ leg, she loses her balance and she very nearly falls. To the right, Maiev barrels towards her.

 

~~~~~

 

Jaina’s breath stops in her throat. This angel is bigger than the others. Her silver and gold armor gleams. A thick green cape swirls around her as she exchanges blows with Sylvanas. Her weapon seems to be a gigantic metal circle, spiked and bladed. Sylvanas looks very small compared to her, and even smaller when the figure spreads her tattered grey wings. Then she slashes diagonally, knocking the sword out of Sylvanas’ hand and scoring a blow. Blood splatters onto the ground, soaking the flannel and flowing from the gash in Sylvanas’ body. The fallen angel crumples into a heap and Jaina covers her mouth so she doesn’t cry out.

 

‘Where is the High Priestess?’ the armor-clad figure says. ‘Can’t she fight her own battles?’

 

‘Windrunner is too powerful for just one of us, you know that, Maiev.’ The blue haired woman walks up to her. ‘She will arrive soon.’

 

Sylvanas snarls, getting up, holding one hand against her stomach to staunch the blood flow. She sways on her legs, yet picks up the sword and runs at the duo with an enraged cry. Before the smaller angel can notch an arrow, she has to jump aside to avoid the blade. Sylvanas collides with the armoured woman, grunting in pain. She locks her sword into the woman’s weapon and claws wildly at her opponent’s helmet. Managing to wrench it off successfully, she makes a grab for the angel’s eyes with her sharp claws. Yet her opponent is too strong. With a brutal headbut, she smashes her skull into Sylvanas’, delivering a kick to the chest which sends her flying. When Sylvanas hits the ground, she remains unmoving, blood pooling around her.

 

‘Powerful? Tyrande really thought that she needed five of us for this… this pathetic sight?’ Maiev, which appears to be the armoured woman’s name, picks up her helmet.

 

Jaina gasps as the light of the street below shimmers over her face. Scars run up and down her cheeks, across her nose and over her forehead. Briefly, Jaina wonders if Sylvanas caused them. Maiev now advances on the fallen angel’s limp body.

 

Very worried for Sylvanas’ life, Jaina shoves her fears aside and steps into the light. All the angels turn to look at her. ‘I am-’

 

With a crash, a fifth figure lands in front of her. Clad in white, a double bladed scythe in her hand. She looks grand, powerful beyond measure. A pair of pristinely white wings unfolds from her back, framing her green hair, seemingly exuding a heavenly light. Apparently they weren’t looking at Jaina, who doesn’t have much time to marvel at the newest angel on the scene.

 

‘Shandris, Maiev. Bring her to me,’ the woman says.

 

The blue haired woman and the tall figure in armor each grab Sylvanas by an arm. The fallen angel groans in pain, as blood still gushes out of her wounds. She is made to kneel before the woman in white, who Jaina assumes to be the High Priestess.

 

‘Sylvanas Windrunner…  finally I have found you.’

 

She lifts her head with the tip of her weapon. Sylvanas’ eyes are unfocused, a bit of blood dribbles out of her mouth. The High Priestess draws her blade back, readying her weapon for a strike.

 

‘Now you will pay for what you wrought upon my people!’

 

‘I could not control my actions,’ Sylvanas rasps.

 

‘What?’

 

‘The Lich King controlled me. I was not even aware of what I was doing.’

 

‘I did not see the Lich King, Windrunner,’ The High Priestess coldly says. ‘I saw my home, burning. And I saw you, standing by the flames.’

 

She nods at the other two angels, holding Sylvanas up. At her sign, they drop her to the ground. Sylvanas cannot catch herself on her arms and cries out as she falls into a pool of her own blood. She looks up at the High Priestess, who readies her blade to strike.

 

‘No!’ Jaina shrieks, sprinting out of her hiding place behind the door. She throws herself over Sylvanas’ body, watching in fear as the blade stops an inch from her chest.

 

Yet there is defiance on her face as she stares unblinkingly into the High Priestess’ glowing eyes. Breathing heavily, she swallows, eyes shifting downwards, to the glinting metal curve of the scythe. Her heartbeat thunders in her ears, but she cannot let the fallen angel down. Not until she has gotten to the core of the reason why the other angels want her dead.

 

‘I - I won’t let you hurt her!’ she snaps, though much more shakily than she had intended to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such an interesting dream Sylvanas had, don't you think?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle is over, but no one is safe from the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multiple people mentioned wanting soff, so here, I've sprinkled a tiny bit of fluff over this angstfest >:]

 

_ God.  _ She is staring down an actual angel. Jaina’s heart thunders within her chest. The green-haired woman lowers her blade, but does not fully relax. Behind her, Sylvanas takes a gurgling breath, though Jaina doesn't dare to look. 

 

‘Who are you?’ the angel asks in a deep voice. 

 

‘M-my name is Jaina Proudmoore,’ Jaina stutters. ‘And Sylvanas… sylvanas crash landed in my house, a few days ago, and-’ 

 

‘I am Tyrande Whisperwind. High Priestess of the Kaldorei, Protector of Teldrassil, Governess of Darnassus.’ 

 

The titles mean nothing to Jaina, but she can nearly sense the power rolling off the angel in waves. 

 

‘That  _ creature  _ behind you is indeed Sylvanas Windrunner. She burnt my homeland, Teldrassil. She stood and laughed while my people were consumed by the fire. Thousands died in the flames. Will you deny me my vengeance?’  

 

Her eyes are intense. Glowing a hazy purple, yet peering into Jaina’s mind all the same. Jaina is determined not to cower in front of her, but she feels shivers creeping up her spine. Perhaps Tyrande notices, because she slowly kneels down. She is still taller than Jaina, even when at her level. And she does not let go of her weapon. Her presence, the magic in the air around her, makes Jaina’s skin tingle. 

 

Yet she does not falter, locking eyes with Tyrande and saying: ‘She has been wronged. Terribly so!’ 

  
‘You saved her?’ the High Priestess inquires. 

 

‘Well…  _ saved _ ? I don’t know if that’s the right word… I just patched her up a bit, when she came here, starving, so weak she couldn’t stand.’ 

 

‘After what she did to my people, you thought that she was worthy of your cares?’ 

 

Jaina grits her teeth. ‘I - I didn’t know what she had done. But she said, just yet, that it wasn’t her fault! I know Arthas, I know… that Sylvanas was once an angel like you!’ She turns around to the fallen angel, who has gone still and does not react to the hand that Jaina lays on her bloodied shoulder. 

 

_ She will die,  _ Jaina realizes.  _ She will die if I don’t do anything.  _

 

But she finds no remorse in the High Priestess’ eyes. Pleading, she turns to the angel again, just barely keeping her composure. Yelling or panicking would be the worst thing she could do now. ‘She would never want to harm your… people. Arthas would!’ 

 

Tyrande narrows her eyes, but before she can speak, Jaina says: 

 

‘I will make sure that she won’t harm anyone like that again, I swear!’ 

 

Immediately afterwards, she goes red in the face. What in the world has she said? What was she thinking? She knows that she cannot keep a fallen angel in check forever, especially when Sylvanas is going to continue her search for revenge on Arthas. Tyrande stops her raging, panicked thoughts with a single sound: 

 

‘ _ Oh. _ ’ 

 

She looks curiously at Jaina, bringing a thoughtful hand up to her mouth. A warm smile spreads over her features. 

 

‘You love her,’ she states. 

 

Jaina’s mind goes blank for a good few seconds. 

 

‘I… I don’t?’ she stammers. ‘I just-’ 

 

‘Maiev, Shandris, I believe we are done here.’ Tyrande stands up and turns to the other angels. One of the two other soldiers, whose names Jaina did not learn, is supporting the other, who is bleeding lightly from a gash in her forehead. The biggest one, with the scarred face, steps forward, armour clattering. Jaina is very glad that she is wearing her helmet again. 

 

‘You’re going to pass up this opportunity to finally have our revenge? We searched for her for months!’ she yells. 

 

‘We did,’ Tyrande says. ‘And I am… For now.’ 

 

Turning to the stunned Jaina, she drops to one knee once more, grasping Sylvanas by the chin, which forces her eyes open. ‘But make not one more mistake, Windrunner, or I will have your head.’ 

 

In a much softer tone, she says to Jaina: ‘Take this, a potion brewed by the finest of my healers. If you still wish to save her, give it in small portions, a third of the bottle every day. Too much at once could kill her just as swiftly as none at all.’ 

 

The bottle she gives to Jaina is a rounded glass flask, fitting neatly into her palm. Inside swirls a purple liquid, softly glowing, sticking a bit to the sides of the bottle like oil. While she admires the way the light pulses in the glass confinement, Tyrande and the rest of her angels gather in a group. The High Priestess lifts a hand in greeting, before a flash of blue light consumes them all. Jaina puts the bottle into the pocket of her jacket and looks at Sylvanas. 

 

The fallen angel is mostly motionless beneath her hands, save for the twitching of her eyelids and the irregular fall and rise of her chest. 

 

_ Why would the other angels think I love her?  _

 

Jaina doesn’t have much time to contemplate it. Sylvanas coughs roughly and grabs Jaina's hand tightly, the bloodied palm nearly causing her to loose her grasp. Her lips move weakly, so Jaina has to lean very close to hear what she is trying to say. Her breath smells like blood, making Jaina gag. 

 

‘D-don’t get sick,’ Sylvanas whispers. 

 

‘What?’ 

 

Sylvanas’ eyes start to glow a brighter red. It trails down into the blackened tears on her face, as the shadows seem to bend towards them. Swirls of black and red smoke envelop them, rushing in her ears and pulling on her clothing.  

 

Jaina feels very, very sick. 

 

The whirlwind of power doesn’t last long. About two seconds, two very long seconds, later, they land roughly in the bathroom. Sylvanas gasps in pain as she smacks on her side, then relaxes, completely unmoving. She’s still bleeding, ruining Jaina’s clothing further. With a great effort, Jaina hauls her into the bathtub and unbuttons her flannel, chucking it into the sink besides her. 

 

She has to fight the urge to gag when looking at the deep wound across Sylvanas’ ribcage. A glint of white shows where the weapon scraped her bones. Then she remembers the potion, and grabs the bottle with trembling hands. Tilting Sylvanas’ head backwards, she softly murmurs encouragements until the fallen angel opens her eyes, just barely. 

 

‘Here, drink this. The… the other angels said it’d save you.’ 

 

Uncorking the bottle and putting the potion to Sylvanas’ lips, Jaina supports her head as she swallows the thick liquid. She draws it away quickly when Sylvanas wants to drink more, however. Looking at the bottle, she is unsure if the amount she gave the fallen angel was a third, or more, or maybe less. Worried, she tries to guess the amount, holding the bottle against the light and trying to see if a third of the rounded flask is empty. Then Sylvanas starts to squirm underneath her hand. 

 

Purple, glowing veins crawl over her skin, pooling into her wounds. Sylvanas groans in pain, smearing blood over the walls of the tub as she searches for purchase. She breathes hoarsely, gasping for air as her wounds slowly seal shut, until only jagged red lines remain. Struggling, she grasps at her left shoulder, slipping over her bloodied grey skin. She turns to Jaina, eyes wide open and choking out: ‘Jaina, g-get it…’ 

 

‘Get what?’ 

 

Jaina looks at the wound on Sylvanas’ shoulder. A broken arrow sticks out of her flesh, its point embedded halfway into the shoulder. ‘D-do I just grab it?’ she asks, inwardly panicking. The worst she has ever done that comes close to this is removing a splinter from her brother’s finger. A small one, not a big arrowpoint. 

 

Sylvanas only looks at her, anger flaring in her eyes. 

 

So Jaina reaches for the arrowpoint and pulls. Her fingers slip off the bloodied wood and she has to try three times before it comes loose. When she succeeds, Sylvanas has fallen unconscious again, but her breathing isn’t so wheezing anymore and her wounds seem mostly healed, faded to shallow cuts. Jaina turns on the tap, starting with cold water and slowly adding hot. Then she carefully works the sweatpants off Sylvanas’ legs. Like her flannel, they are ripped and soiled with blood, most likely ruined. For a moment, she thinks about removing the boxershorts too, but she blushes at the mere thought and cannot do that to the unconscious fallen angel. 

 

As the bath fills up, she dumps the clothing in a garbage bag, to dispose of later. When she returns, Sylvanas is still out cold, and the bathtub is filling slowly. Jaina slides a hand under her head and props it up soundly against one end of the tub. The fallen angel is tall, and her long legs need to be slightly folded to fit in completely. Grabbing a washcloth, because she can afford one more item being ruined by blood, Jaina carefully runs it over Sylvanas’ smooth skin. Inside her wounds, a slight purple light still glows, repairing and healing the cuts. She needs to ask Sylvanas how the potion works later. 

 

Even after she has turned off the water, and made sure that the bath is a comfortably warm temperature, she continues cleaning the blood away, until the water turns slightly pink. When finished, Jaina dares to rest her hand on Sylvanas’ bare stomach, underneath the water. Her fingers brush over a rougher patch of skin. A scar, strangely blackened like the other deep ones that Sylvanas bears. It runs from an inch above her navel all the way down to her left hip bone. Jaina frowns, tracing the raised tissue and the deep cut in between. She wonders if this is the wound that Arthas gave the fallen angel before dragging her down. Swallowing away a bitter taste in her mouth, Jaina sighs and tries to ignore the dark, hollow anger rising in her chest. First she needs to ensure that Sylvanas actually lives to fight her ex, then there is time to stew in her fury. 

 

She tucks a wet strand of hair behind a long ear. The grey length twitches against her hand, flicking as Sylvanas opens her eyes. In her haste to remove her other hand from the fallen angel’s stomach, Jaina splashes water on herself, stuttering an apology. The fallen angel just stares at her groggily, lifting an arm out of the water and frowning. 

 

‘I thought I’d clean you up a bit… t-the blood, I mean,’ Jaina mumbles. She can feel a blush creeping up her face. 

 

‘Yes.’ Sylvanas looks up and down her own body, gingerly reaching for the edge of the wound on her chest. ‘Thank you.’ 

 

Forlorn and tired, she sighs, then makes a move to sit upright. 

 

‘I wouldn’t do that yet!’ Jaina rushes to press a hand onto her arm, but hesitating when Sylvanas’ ears fold flatly against her skull. 

 

‘I heal more quickly than you,’ Sylvanas says. ‘The potion aided me greatly as well. Give me some more.’ 

 

‘Can’t do that. The High Priestess said I should give you a third of the bottle a day. Too much could be lethal.’ 

 

‘Curse those Kaldorei,’ Sylvanas mutters, sinking back into the tub, wincing as she hits her shoulder against the edge. ‘Good healing potions, but they take forever to work. I’d rather have a Blood Knight’s magic. It hurts, but at least it gets the job done quickly.’ 

 

‘What did you call them?’ Jaina inquires. 

 

‘ _ Kaldorei, _ children of the stars. Slightly different from the Quel’dorei, what I used to be.’ 

 

Slowly nodding, Jaina reaches into a cabinet to get a towel. One more thing she needs to discard afterwards, since it will most likely become bloodied as well.  _ I really have to find a good place to dump all this shit,  _ she thinks. 

 

Sylvanas insists on drying herself, which Jaina allows with a roll of her eyes. After a lot of pained noises, a surprisingly dry fallen angel sits slumped against the wall on the edge of the bathtub, allowing Jaina to bandage her wounds. The underside of the sports bra she borrowed the fallen angel has been nicked by the weapon of the heavily armoured angel. An issue for in the morning, when she has to look for more clothing that could fit Sylvanas. Jaina fastens the bandage, securing it with a couple diagonal wraps across Sylvanas’ chest and shoulder. 

 

‘I doubt you really need it, but it’s so you don’t bleed all over my bed. Don’t need any more blood on my stuff,’ she says. 

 

Now her first aid courses come especially in handy, she thinks as she winds soft layers of cotton around Sylvanas’ ribcage. Some remnants of the magic still glow within the wound, sparking as she presses the bandage onto the skin. Sylvanas watches her, head tilted curiously, sharp features all the more apparent in the harsh white light of the bathroom. 

 

‘Your bed?’ the fallen angel asks. 

 

‘Yes, not the couch. I need to keep an eye on you while you’re recovering. In case anything else decides to try to maul you. Or if you run off again before you’re properly healed.’ 

 

When Jaina has wrapped all of Sylvanas’ limbs save for her right arm, with more bandages around her her chest and forehead, she offers her arm to lean on, knowing that she is much more tired that she tries to appear. And she was correct, as Sylvanas grunts and collapses against Jaina when she stands. Huffing, Jaina steers the both of them to her bedroom, plopping Sylvanas down on the bed and folding back the sheets. Her mattress is an odd thing. It is either a very large one for a single person, or a very small one for two. She never found out exactly what it was though. It had been cheap, and a little too hard for her tastes. But she couldn’t afford to be picky, when she had been searching for furniture for her appartement.

 

‘Do you want anything? Food, water?’ she asks Sylvanas. 

 

Shaking her head, the fallen angel settles underneath the blanket, face blank, staring up at the white ceiling until Jaina says: 

 

‘Why were those Kaldorei trying to kill you? They said some things during the battle but… to be honest, I forgot half of them already. Must be the stress.’ 

 

Sylvanas hums neutrally. With a sigh, she turns her head towards Jaina. ‘Teldrassil, their realm, is a very powerful source of magic. Not the kind of arcane energy that my people have mastered… it’s something wilder, closer to nature.’ 

 

Her voice sounds reedy, hoarse and tired. ‘Naturally, Arthas wanted to conquer it to use for himself. As one of his subordinates, and one of his best warriors, I went to do so for him. His plan was simple, propose a pact to the High Priestess, giving him access to their vast reserves of magic.’ 

 

She reaches up to scratch a bit on one of her horns, then shrugs. ‘And when she refused, he ordered me to light their capital, and the heart of their tree after which they named their realm, aflame. And so I did. I could not disobey, after all.’ 

 

‘I understand.’ Jaina averts her eyes from Sylvanas, plucking at a fraying thread on the blanket. ‘How horrible…’ 

 

‘ _ Mhmm _ . They’re a proud race, the Kaldorei. Already started rebuilding their lands. Not before Arthas had his forces steal a significant amount of their mana reserves… but those will replenish too, in time.’  

 

Sylvanas closes her eyes and clacks with her tongue. ‘No, some just want revenge more than others. Hence why Tyrande showed up here. I think they might have tracked me by monitoring magical energies… very rare, except by the bridges, of course. They may have located me when I shed my human form. ‘T was no small amount of energy I released.’ 

 

She sighs and continues staring at the ceiling, seemingly deep in thought. 

 

The conversation still looms above them like a patch of dark stormclouds.  _ It  _ is still gnawing at Jaina’s mind, too. Just like the issue of helping Sylvanas, just like the shit with her family that she desperately tries not to think about. 

 

‘Who is the Kaldorei who injured you?’ she asks, attempting to distract herself. ‘The one that looks like something chewed on her face.’ 

 

Sylvanas snorts in a way that could have been a laugh. ‘That would be Maiev Shadowsong, one of Tyrande’s enforcers.’ 

 

‘And why is she so mad at you? Moreso that the others, it seemed.’ 

 

A lot of shuffling and wincing follows besides her. 

 

‘I killed her second-in-command… during the invasion. Arthas dragged her down too, as he did with me.’ 

 

~~~~~

 

‘Oh… I understand… why she’s angry, I meant.’ 

 

Jaina yawns, very deeply. Then she stands up and tells Sylvanas to close her eyes. The fallen angel does so, while hearing Jaina open and close drawers and rustle with clothing. When she is allowed to open her eyes again, she catches a glimpse of Jaina in her pyjamas with anchor print. Little blue anchors, just like on the pillow she’s lying on. Jaina settles in the bed and makes a soft, satisfied noise, before turning on her side next to Sylvanas. 

 

While the human slowly nods off, her breathing getting heavier and she even starts snoring lightly, Sylvanas sighs again. Her wounds still feel raw, despite the healing potion. They hurt when she shifts and they hurt when she lies still. 

 

But above all that, she feels helpless. Travelling through the shadows left her dizzy and even more drained than she had been before the fight. The lack of arcane power feels hollow, as if her chest cavity is empty, devoid of mana. She knows that it will replenish itself, in due time, too slowly for comfort. Until then, she is scarily dependent on Jaina’s cares. It’s not an issue of trust. No, not necessarily. She trusts Jaina. If the human had wanted to kill her, she had done that when Sylvanas had been stricken by starvation and exhaustion. What she does not trust are her own abilities to defend herself. The most she could do now, Sylvanas figures, is stumble to the bathroom to relieve herself and then try to get to the kitchen for food, probably half fainting along the way. 

 

Essentially, she is back to where she started, when she had collapsed on Jaina’s couch, the first evening that she had been in the house. Only now, the issue lies with her healing wounds and her failure to get ahold of Arthas’ location, instead of threatening to starve. For a moment, Sylvanas idly wonders where Tyrande’s benevolence came from. In the semi-conscious state she was in, while bleeding to death on the roof, she hadn’t fully heard what the Kaldorei leader had said. 

 

Then the High Priestess’ reason for letting her live suddenly snaps back into her mind. 

 

Sleep threatens to take her. Sylvanas flips onto her side, ignoring the stab of pain in her shoulder, and prods Jaina in her back until she wakes up. ‘Jaina…  _ Jaina _ , we must talk.’ 

 

The first thing she gets is a tired  _ hrrmfff _ , before Jaina turns around and looks at her with bleary eyes. ‘Wha’sit?’ 

 

‘The Night Warrior said that you love me,’ Sylvanas whispers. ‘Is that true?’ 

 

Jaina sits up. She groans and covers her face with her hands, muffling her tired sigh for a moment, before rubbing over her eyes a few times. ‘Sylvanas, can’t… can’t you let me sleep? We’ve had quite the day.’ 

 

Sylvanas frowns, and opens her mouth to speak. ‘That’s not what-’ 

 

‘I’ll help you with defeating arthas. Yes, I’ll help you… they’ll just keep hunting you, otherwise.’ Tiredly, Jaina flops back down onto the mattress, pulling the blankets up.

 

Relieved, yet conflicted, Sylvanas watches as she curls up, facing away from her. As one nagging issue is settled, another rears its head. She still has to figure out what exactly she is going to do next, since her original plan did not work out how she thought it would. Jaina’s breathing is getting heavier again, and Sylvanas wakes her before she can fully fall asleep again. 

 

‘You are avoiding the question, Jaina. Do you love me?’ 

 

Jaina grabs her pillow and buries her face into it. When Sylvanas prods her in between her shoulder blades again, she rolls onto her back and presses it harder onto her face, smothering another long, tired groan into the plush. Then she says, voice still slightly muffled by the pillow: ‘I don’t know. Love - love is a complicated thing, especially for me. I can’t just say that. Right now. Immediately.’ 

 

‘It must be difficult to love something like me, anyways,’ Sylvanas mumbles. She looks at Jaina, and doesn’t miss how her body is tense. When she removes the pillow from her face and tucks it underneath her head again, Jaina wipes her eyes with the back of her head. In the low light, Sylvanas’ eyes retain their angelic night vision, and she can see the smear of tears on Jaina’s arm. Guilt washes over her, just briefly.

 

‘That’s not the issue and you know it, Sylvanas.’ The hurt that Jaina now radiates, with her pained expression, tense body and the glint of tears in her eyes, makes her painfully aware of how Jaina used to  _ love  _ Arthas. Where she only knows the man as her enslaver and torturer, Jaina had cherished him. 

 

Deceit, lies, betrayal. Fury boils in her chest as she looks at the woman besides her. The woman who had patched her up, fed her and allowed her to try to regain her strength. She had no real right to ask about it. It had just been a stupid statement from a stupid Kaldorei. 

 

Yet Tyrande had let her live, because of whatever she thought to have seen in Jaina. 

 

Sylvanas wonders how much quel’dorei is still left within her. Righteous anger and dark, demonic lust for revenge seem to flow over into each other, mixing into a toxic brew. Then Jaina turns her head in her direction, the blue of her eyes just visible to Sylvanas in the dark. 

 

‘First, I’ll help you face Arthas. Let’s talk about this confusing shit after that, okay?’ she says. 

 

Nodding mutely, Sylvanas lets out a little sigh. She does not know what to say, for once. 

 

‘Okay?’ Jaina asks, more insistently. 

 

It dawns on Sylvanas that humans cannot see so well in the dark as former quel’dorei. ‘Yes.’

 

‘Good.’ Jaina turns on her side again, facing away from Sylvanas. 

 

The fallen angel mirrors her movements, shifting until she lies on her painful shoulder. She lies awake for a long time, as conflict stirs in her mind. Jaina’s good cares. Her own torturous dreams. The warm water of the bath, soothing her wounds as she bled. The cold concrete of the roof, colliding with her too fragile body as Shadowsong sliced her open. Soft, yet firm hands wrapping layers of cotton around her wounds. Jaina’s anguished screech as she had sped to her rescue. Again. Jaina had saved her twice. First when she had blacked out after her transformation, then when she had lain defenseless on the roof. The stout woman had more confidence and bravery than some of the rangers Sylvanas had trained. And she hadn’t even been armed. 

 

Jaina isn’t sleeping either. Her breath sounds rushed, with little hiccups. 

 

When sleep eventually takes her, Sylvanas dreams that she is chained in Icecrown Citadel. Kneeling on the floor, her arms shackled and spread so her shoulders ache. In the ice beneath her, she sees her own reflection. Still a quel’dorei, with one wing and silver eyes. 

 

_ ‘You have failed them,’  _ the Lich King says. ‘ _ You have failed her. Didn’t she try to save you? Even a human is worth more than you, Sylvanas.’  _

 

Sylvanas wants to scream, but only a beastly howl comes out of her mouth. The feathers of her wing fall off and the skin withers away, leaving only bones, which crumble to ash. A golden light flares underneath her skin, spreading like veins over her body. It tears through her flesh, slowly breaking her apart. Her agonized shriek turns into Jaina’s panicked cry, as the woman tries to break through the icy walls surrounding her, like she burst through the rooftop door. The Lich King appears and jams Frostmourne in the ice between them. He turns to Sylvanas, blue eyes glowing within his helmet as he hisses: 

 

_ ‘You will never be more than a failure.’  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think they’d talk about the love thing now? Nah this is sylvaina, we’re taking the long road.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put in a reference to Prokofiev's 3rd symphony, nicknamed “The Fiery Angel”, because the name alone makes me think so much of fallen angel!syl. The music itself is also near perfect soundtrack for some of the upcoming battle scenes :)

Somehow, Jaina had managed to slip out of the bed, take a shower and come back to dress without waking Sylvanas. It greatly puzzles the fallen angel. Perhaps the woman had learnt not to be so incredibly ungraceful, perhaps her injuries had tired her so much that she slept through Jaina’s usual lumbering about. Whatever the case, the only trace she finds of the human is a note that Jaina has stuck to the door of the bedroom.

 

_sorry for being so rough yesterday. shouldn’t have, I was tired and it was a stressful evening. hope that’s okay._

_food is in the fridge, careful in the living room because I opened a curtain. dont eat the last 2 eggs!! and use the broom to walk without falling, im trying to get a crutch but not sure if ill find one quickly. also trying to get an extra phone for if_ _~~anyth~~ _ _anyone tries to attack you again_

 

_also REPLACE YOUR BANDAGES. dont get gross again I still have to dump the other bloody stuff_

 

It looks hastily scribbled down. Jaina is often in a hurry, Sylvanas notes. Frowning at the word “broom”, she understands when spotting it in the corner next to the door. Hesitatingly, she reaches out, but changes her mind and goes for the door instead. No, she does not need a broom for support, much less a crutch. She takes one step into the corridor, after which her injured leg starts to shake and pain shoots up her limb. Cursing in Thalassian, she stumbles back into the bedroom and begrudgingly reaches for the broom.

 

In the bathroom, she settles on the edge of the tub, briefly shivering at the cold stone against her bare skin. Underneath the sink, she spots a black bag, most likely made out of the material called plastic, filled with the towel, bloodied and torn flannel and her old rags. She feels slightly sorry for ruining the clothing, but then again, it was not entirely her fault. The Kaldorei split her blood onto the garments.

 

Gingerly, she unwraps the bandage around her leg. Where the arrow scraped her, a crusted-over wound marrs her shin. It’s more bruise than wound, blueish and purple underneath the grey skin. Her chest wound is more jarring to uncover. Jaina has made quite the artwork of wrappings around her chest and shoulder. Eventually, she gives up on peeling them off and uses her sharp claws to tear through the layers of cotton. Hissing when she pulls the bandage off her chest and it gets caught in the edges of the wound, she peers down to inspect the damage. For that, she needs to discard the admittedly comfortable sports bra, which she puts on the edge of the sink for Jaina to wash.

 

Shakily, she stands in front of the mirror, bared more than she wants to be. Ever since being stripped of her wings, her pale skin and her silver eyes, she has avoided mirrors like the scourge plague itself. A raw red line, as long as her hand, runs over her ribcage, from just underneath her left breast downwards. Nearly parallel to the much deeper, blackened scar that Frostmourne left in her abdomen. Sylvanas wonders if Jaina had paid attention to it, and what she thought of it.

 

Her forehead is bruised from the brutal headbut that Shadowsong gave her. Her left ear is also purplish at the tip, most likely caused by falling and sliding over the rough concrete. Sylvanas twinges and carefully runs her finger over the ear. At least it’s still intact. If she cannot have her wings, let her long ears be the last reminders of her former self.

 

It is a sad sight. A quel’dorei, beaten and broken, standing in a human’s bathroom like some kind of exotic pet. Hence why Sylvanas does not like mirrors.  

 

Underneath the warm shower, it only takes half a minute before she starts to get dizzy, weakness creeping up her legs. Sagging to her knees, cursing her body for its weakness, she breathes in sharply as the water clatters painfully onto her bruised back. But soon, she pushes herself upright and grasps the bottle with soap. Yet her shaky legs will not listen and her stomach gives an unexpected heave in protest. Going down and sitting on the floor with her feet against the ugly bubble decorations of the shower cabin’s walls seems to be the only thing she can do to avoid fainting. As the water slowly moistens her hair, Sylvanas feels tears sting in the corners of her eyes, but swallows them down. She wishes that Jaina was with her. She misses the soft hands cleansing her body.

 

Eventually, after a most likely too long shower, she has manages to wash and dry herself haphazardly. Leaning heavily on the broom, she staggers back to the bedroom and promptly drops herself onto the mattress, whining in pain from the impact. She sprawls out as much as she can, grabbing the sheets and covering herself so only the very tips of her horns stick out. Exhausted and in pain, she blacks out once more.

 

When she wakes, the sting of light from the corridor, since she hadn’t closed the door, tells her it’s already afternoon. Dreaded, dizzying weakness still lingers in her muscles, but she can sit up without nearly passing out. Trying to forget about the horrendous experience in the shower, and vowing never to become so weakened again, she opens Jaina’s closet, looking for something comfortable, preferably very soft.

 

The first thing she touches and dumps onto the bed is a shirt. Black, with three broad stripes over the front. The lowest one is a deep blue, then a lavender stripe, followed by a hot pink one. Sylvanas wonders if it’s a flag of sorts. Unfortunately, it’s also way too small, so she searches further, eventually settling for a dark green shirt with a little yellow anchor on the right side of the chest. “Boralus annual sailing championship” is spelled in a similar dark yellow across the chest, the words “first place” just underneath it. Apparently Jaina is a good sailor.

 

The note on the door reminds her of the bandages she needs to put on again. The task is painful and her return to the bathroom means raking up the unpleasant things that happened in the morning. Luckily the shirt that she chose is so stretchy that she can fit it over her horns without tearing the fabric. Sylvanas hastens out of there as quickly as she can, hobbling to the kitchen with the accursed broom. On the counter is another note from Jaina, held in place with the potion bottle.

 

_drink half of this. no more, no idea what happens then but i dont wanna find out_

 

Tyrande’s healing potion. Sylvanas uncorks the bottle and takes a deep whiff of the sour-sweet, oddly heavy smell that wafts out. Then she takes a swallow, holding the bottle up to check how much she drank, and another one after that. She can feel the magic of the draught seep into her wounds, starting it’s prickling healing process underneath the bandages.

 

After having eaten and carefully avoided being seen through the open curtain, Sylvanas settles on the couch. Despite not remembering falling asleep, she wakes up hours later. Vague flashes of golden light, desperately fluttering wings and those accursed ice spikes had haunted her dreams once more. Jaina is still not home, and Sylvanas has ran out of things to do. “Things to do” encompasses a number of activities, like eating, sleeping on the couch, sleeping in the bed and being the most ungraceful and weakened she has ever been.  
  
There must be something she can do to remedy that. As she glances around the room, she spots two paperweights on the table. They are shaped like chunky anchors, strangely rounded and thus do not look all that much like anchors. But they will do for what she has in mind.

 

~~~~~

 

Locking the door behind her is getting more satisfying every day. The resounding _clunk_ of the heavy door shutting reminds her of the fact that she has a home and a place for herself. Well, mostly for herself. Nowadays, there is an injured demon she has to contend with.

 

Sylvanas is in the living room. She is lying on the floor in front of the table. She is… doing sit-ups, with Jaina’s paperweights in her hands. The silly chubby anchors that Taelia gave her as a housewarming gift.

 

Jaina stands still on the doorstep. What she can see from Sylvanas’ form is, for the lack of a better word, quite chiseled. Biceps and a hint of abs from underneath her shirt. A slight blush creeps up Jaina’s cheeks. Yes, she knows that Sylvanas had been a soldier, even a commander of sorts, but seeing her train is something else. Oh, Sylvanas is looking at her oddly. She clears her throat.

 

‘You… you shouldn’t be doing that,’ Jaina says, going even redder in the face. ‘You’re still hurt.’

 

‘I must regain my strength to stand a chance when I face Arthas again,’ the fallen angel counters, not even stopping her sit-ups.

 

Jaina tries to look away from the flex of Sylvanas’ arms. She definitely looks better than when she arrived in Jaina’s house. ‘Can’t you… go easy on yourself?’

 

‘That is not how I will regain my form.’

 

Her form. _Form._ Her physical, toned form, or her angelic appearance. Or both. Jaina doesn’t exactly know what to think of it.

 

‘Promise me you won’t overdo it?’ she tries. ‘Just… don’t get yourself in a state any worse than… whatever happened yesterday, okay?’

 

Sylvanas stops her exercises, thoughtfully regarding Jaina. Then she shrugs. ‘Alright.’

 

Getting up, she places the paperweights on the table. Only then does Jaina see exactly what she’s wearing. Besides having dug up the partially torn, black sweatpants from the laundry basket besides the shower cabin, the fallen angel had decided to wear that infernal t-shirt form the sailing championships. Dark green with the golden letters. Proudmoore colours. Her family’s colours. Jaina sighs.

 

‘Put on something else, please.’

 

‘I could not find anything else that would fit me. This shirt is somewhat stretchy… and it is comfortable.’ Sylvanas tugs on the underside of the shirt. ‘Does it bother you?’

 

‘The… the dumb shirt is from where I grew up. It reminds me of my family.’

 

Jaina thought she couldn’t get any redder, but she is certain that her face resembles a ripe tomato now. ‘Nevermind,’ she mumbles.

 

‘I could search for something else if-’

 

Laughing awkwardly, Jaina waves it off and bends down to grab her bags with groceries. ‘No, no, _nevermind_. It’s… complicated. A long story I won’t bother you with. Would you help me with cooking? It might not be a total disaster if you stand by and make sure I don’t burn the food.’

 

Mentally noting to check if she has a little money to spare to buy Sylvanas some clothing that fits the taller woman, a tiny smile spreads over Jaina’s lips as Sylvanas takes one of the bags from her. When they have sorted and put the groceries away, Jaina says:

 

‘I was thinking of some meatballs with fried eggplant, maybe some carrots, onion, garlic. With boiled potatoes… or should I bake them too?’

 

Cooking was evidently not the first thing on the fallen angel’s mind. That was probably her revenge. Sylvanas stares blankly at Jaina before snapping out of her daze. ‘Baked?’ she carefully suggests. ‘Perhaps with some fresh herbs?’

 

‘Afraid I don’t have any fresh herbs,’ Jaina dejectedly says, checking her cabinets before confirming that the house is indeed severely lacking in fresh herbs. ‘Sorry. But I’ll bake them! That should be-’

 

Three heavy knocks on the door echo through the house. Jaina yelps and jumps, startled. Sylvanas tenses and immediately reaches for a knife from the wooden knife block in the corner of the counter.

 

‘Please, put that-’ Jaina lays a hand on Sylvanas’ arm and moves the sharp point away from her body. ‘- away. It’s probably just a neighbour.’

 

‘It might be an ally of Arthas,’ Sylvanas hisses. ‘Or more Kaldorei, who did not get Tyrande’s message.’

 

‘Whoever it is, I still need to open the door. Stay hidden, please.’

 

Sylvanas’ ears swivel downwards and she bares both pairs of fangs. But she does not stop Jaina from making her way down the corridor. When she is nearly at the door, grabbing her keys from a hook of the coat rack, the knocking continues. It is loud, and while she does not want to admit it, it raises the hairs on Jaina’s neck.

 

‘Hello, how can I help you?’ she asks while opening the door and putting on a shaky smile.

 

‘Mrs. Proudmoore?’

 

A burly man in a black uniform stands on the gallery. Jaina does her best not to burst into laughter. Of all the things she had expected to see, this is a relief.

 

‘Yes, that’s me,’ she says.

 

‘Yesterday night there seems to have been a serious burglary. The exit of the fire escape has been destroyed. I’m heading the investigation to find who’s responsible for it. Have you seen or heard anything?’

 

The door. It had slipped Jaina’s mind completely. She clears her throat. ‘Ehm, no… no, I haven’t seen anything! I do hope you will find out what happened, I’d feel a lot… safer.’

 

Behind her in the house, Sylvanas makes a lot of noise. It sounds as if she drops something, then hisses sharply. The man quirks his eyebrows.

 

‘That’s my… cat,’ Jaina hastily says, her smile growing more awkward. ‘Gets cranky if I don’t feed her on time… which I really should do right now. Good luck with your investigation!’

 

‘Thanks, Mrs Proudmoore,’ he mumbles, before walking to her next door neighbour and ringing the bell.

 

Back in the kitchen, Sylvanas is putting a pan back into the kitchen cabinet. ‘You have placed this horrendously,’ she comments.

 

‘Thanks. You know, there was a man-’

 

‘Yes, I heard. Hopefully Tyrande will solve it before they find anything strange.’

‘I hope so too.’

 

Jaina grabs a plank and starts to cut the vegetables. Sylvanas just stares at her, leaning against the counter. The house feels too quiet for Jaina’s comfort, so she soon stops cooking and walks to the CD player. The fallen angel follows close behind, tapping the butt of the broom, which she has actually taken to using, much to Jaina’s surprise, in an irregular rhythm on the ground.

 

‘It’s ancient, I know,’ Jaina huffs. ‘Wish I had the money for fancy speakers or a docking station.’

 

‘I have no knowledge of either of those things.’

 

‘Of course. I forgot.’

 

Rifling through her CD collection, Jaina stumbles upon more classical music than she thought she had. When she still studied, it was her favourite way to relax and focus on her homework. She pauses at a disk.

 

‘Romantic piano songs from the 19th century, played by Crown Prince Anduin Wrynn. God, I forgot I had this one. Look at him.’

 

Sylvanas frowns while looking at the boy in his blue and golden suit. ‘He looks like a weakling. Is that your monarch?’

 

‘Not yet.’ Jaina flips the CD case over and looks at it with a fond smile. ‘I met him years ago, at a ball with my family.’

 

‘Ah, my father used to be an admiral,’ she clarifies upon seeing Sylvanas’ confused expression. ‘Me and Anduin were the only two children at the ball so we became friends quite quickly.’

 

She then places the CD on the ground besides her and takes a look at the next one. ‘Ooh, how about this one? The Fiery Angel, symphony number 3… sounds right for you, doesn’t it?’

 

‘We shall see,’ Sylvanas says, shrugging.

 

Jaina hopes that she has not offended the fallen angel. Perhaps the joke had been in poor taste. Sylvanas unnerves her more than usual today. The images of the night prior are still seared into her mind, as well as their awkward talk about love. Not to mention the fact that she has thrown herself headfirst into whatever crazy revenge plans Sylvanas has. No, her actions of yesterday night had not been very wise. The scurries to the CD player and inserts the disk.

 

 

After some fumbling with the volume, a burst of brass and strings blasts out of the speakers. Jaina scrambles to turn it down.

 

‘Oops, sorry for that,’ she says, laughing despite herself. ‘I clearly hear the “fiery” parts… _hmm_ , not a lot of “angel” yet.’

 

When she looks at Sylvanas, she sees the way her ears are twitching, seemingly trying to catch every note. The fallen angel is nearly smiling, her red eyes glittering.

 

‘You liiike it,’ Jaina teases her.

 

To her surprise, Sylvanas nods slowly. ‘I do.’

 

‘Well, let’s listen to it while we cook.’

 

While Jaina briskly walks to the kitchen and picks up her knife, Sylvanas lingers behind. Eventually, she does join Jaina, helping her by washing and peeling the potatoes, while the strings swell into a flowing, sweeping melody. Jaina finds herself swaying to it as she mixes the ground meat with egg and some breadcrumbs. From the corner of her eye, she spies Sylvanas who insisted on baking the potatoes because she didn’t want to dirty her hands, doing the same.

 

After a surprisingly successful cooking session, in which only half of the meatballs had been burnt, they eat together. While Sylvanas works a sliver of blackened meat from between her fangs with that wicked forked tongue, Jaina listlessly stirs her meal and tries to avert her eyes. She doesn’t want to admit it, but the thought of facing Arthas again and having to help Sylvanas with, most likely, kill him is weighing more heavily on her mind by the minute. Eventually, when the fallen angel has finished two and a half portions, she brings their plates to the kitchen, leaving her own meal mostly uneaten. When she returns, Sylvanas is seated on the couch, seemingly waiting for another evening talk.  

 

‘I’d like to go to bed, if you don’t mind,’ Jaina says, already halfway to the corridor.

 

‘And I must tell you a few important details about our quest.’ Sylvanas frowns, getting up and grabbing the broom. ‘But I could join you in the bedroom, if you wish.’

 

No, Jaina does not wish that. She wishes that she could have a few minutes, or hours, of silence to contemplate what in Tides’ name she has brought upon herself. She also knows that she cannot shake the fallen angel off, and her mind is telling her to stop postponing things. So she sighs heavily and nods, walking into the corridor and hearing Sylvanas’ uneven steps behind her. When opening the bedroom door, she freezes on the doorstep.

 

‘H-have you… have you seen that?’ she asks, pointing to the t-shirt on the bed, inwardly panicking.

 

‘Of course I have. It is much too small for me, however.’ Sylvanas seats herself on the bed and reaches for the shirt to hand it to Jaina.

 

‘Don’t touch it!’ Jaina snaps.

 

Immediately, the fallen angel recoils, ears folding against her skull. For a few moments, she and Jaina stare at each other, one frightened and trying to hide it, the other panicky. Then it slowly dawns on Jaina.

 

‘You don’t know what it is, do you?’

 

‘It’s a flag, of sorts, I think,’ Sylvanas mumbles. She tries not to show her fear, but Jaina doesn’t miss how her tail tries to curl up between her legs and she already feels sorry for her outburst.

 

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘It’s a flag! It’s a very special flag, on a very special shirt.’ Grabbing the t-shirt, she holds it in front of her body. ‘My brother, Derek, bought it for me when I came out to my family.’

 

Sylvanas stares blankly at her, cocking her head.

 

‘You don’t know what that means either… I think?’

 

‘No, I do not.’

 

Jaina wonders if angels even have the same kind of spectrum as humans. She sits down on the bed and quietly asks: ‘How would you call it if a woman lov- if a woman was attracted to both men and other women?’

 

Frowning, Sylvanas brings a hand to her chin and thinks for a few moments. Then she shrugs. ‘Love?’

 

‘Love?’ Jaina laughs. ‘That’s… correct, I guess. But nothing else?’

 

‘What else would I need to call it?’

 

‘You… your people - they don’t… what? They don’t have another word for it? How does that work?’

 

While Jaina scrambles to understand that no, apparently there is no word for bisexuality in Sylvanas’ culture, the fallen angel shrugs anew.

 

‘What else would I need to say?’ she asks plainly. ‘Love is love, is it not?’

 

‘Here, some people think otherwise.’ Jaina blushes and looks down at the shirt. ‘This is the flag for people who are attracted to both genders… and to people who don’t feel like they’re a man or a woman.’

 

Sylvanas hums. ‘I suppose it’s nice to have an emblem?’

 

Beaming, Jaina nods enthusiastically.

 

‘Then what would the flag be for a woman who exclusively likes other women?’

 

‘Ehm… I think that one has a lot of purple? How about I look that up for you, so you can have a look at it while I go to the bathroom to get ready for bed?’

 

Sylvanas inclines her head, and Jaina pulls out her phone to search for the lesbian flag. She tosses the device to the fallen angel when she has a good selection of search results.

 

Then, when she is brushing her teeth, the realization hits her so hard that she nearly swallows her toothpaste. Coughing and half choking, she realizes that Sylvanas was most likely talking about herself. Despite the fact that her people have no special word for woman to woman love, there are of course still instances of it. Perhaps it’s even a lot more common than in her own realm.

 

 _Jaina, you’re an utter idiot,_ she thinks.

 

Now she understands why Sylvanas had seemed so worried, the evening prior. And she also feels considerably more sorry and awkward about dismissing her so crudely. Perhaps she should have been more careful. But a relationship is really not something she wants. Not while the stains and scars of her previous one are seemingly still carved into her soul. No, she will stay true to her word and consider another relationship after they have defeated her demon ex. Together. It’s the _together_ that makes her the most uneasy.

 

Sylvanas is already comfortably nestled underneath the blankets when Jaina returns to the bedroom. The sharp points of her horns poke into the pillow and Jaina is afraid that she will puncture it. But she decides not to say anything, closing the door and flicking on the small lamp on the nightstand. Then she folds back the blankets and sighs when Sylvanas hisses at the change of temperature.

 

‘So…’ the fallen angel says.

 

‘Yeah… um, there was something you wanted to tell me?’ Jaina turns on her side to face her companion.

 

‘ _Mmhm._ ’

 

‘About your plan?’

 

‘Indeed.’

 

After watching Sylvanas stare at the ceiling with a deep frown on her face for at least a minute, Jaina gets frustrated. ‘Well, spit it out then!’

 

‘It’s… complicated,’ Sylvanas muses. ‘Perhaps too complicated of a concept for a human to grasp.’

 

‘Don’t know that until you’ve told me.’

 

At that, the fallen angel turns her head marginally in Jaina’s direction and regards her quietly, with a haughty kind of grace befitting her former nature. ‘I will track his whereabouts by locating his magic signature within this realm. He must have left it somewhere when departing to his own world.’

 

She studies her black, claw-like nails for a few moments. Jaina wonders if they are retractable, because she has seen Sylvanas with normal, though strangely yellowed nails as well. ‘It’s his specific brand of magic, that seals every passageway between realms that he used, as well as the locations of his latest or most powerful spells. A footprint he leaves wherever he treads.’

 

‘So it’s like a real signature? Something only he can have left behind?’

 

‘Indeed,’ Sylvanas says, looking mildly surprised and, even more mildly, impressed. ‘It has been quite some time since he visited this particular realm, but finding the signature itself is not difficult. No, feeling his kind of magic… that is where the main issue lies.’

 

‘Sorry to be tactless, but haven’t you felt his magic plenty of times?’ Jaina winces at the way Sylvanas’ ears pin back and how she shudders.

 

‘That impression did not stick very well… Think of it this way: I need a map to locate a treasure. I know how the treasure looks, but without the map I cannot find it.’

 

‘Makes sense…’ Jaina stretches and groans at the way her spine pops and relaxes. ‘So what are you going to do now?’

 

‘ _We_ are going to locate an item that belonged to him.’ Sylvanas turns to Jaina fully and smiles eerily. No, Jaina decides, it’s not even a smile, she only bares her teeth, very creepily.

 

‘And that is where you come in handy. You will help me locate such an item.’

 

‘I have nothing in my house that belonged to him. Threw it all away… in a fit of rage.’

 

Not easily deterred, as Jaina remembers from when she first met Sylvanas, the fallen angel presses on: ‘You mentioned family. They must have something.’

 

There it is again. That undertone of desperation that scrapes off Sylvanas’ unpleasant demeanor and bares the wounded soul beneath, like a nasty scab concealing a worse injury. The tone that makes Jaina’s heart clench in sympathy and awakens a white hot rage against that man.

 

‘Yes… I left a few boxes with old junk behind with them. Maybe some of his as well,’ she mumbles.

 

‘Well, when will we visit them and reclaim it?’

 

‘Sylvanas… I -’ Jaina sighs and bites the inside of her lip. No, she cannot tell the full story. Not when so much is at stake. ‘I’m not on good terms with my family. Going there, to Boralus, would not be pleasant at all. In fact, I don’t even know if I will get access to the house. I don’t have a key.’

 

‘Being trapped in this wretched form, useless, unable to do anything when I know that others still suffer underneath his tyranny… _that_ is “not pleasant”,’ Sylvanas snaps.

 

She is right, but Jaina chooses to ignore that for the time being. ‘Others?’ she asks instead. ‘You never mentioned any others before.’

 

‘There are more quel’dorei who share my fate. Though they are still trapped in his clutches. Is that so surprising?’

 

Remembering the army that Sylvanas mentioned leading, of all things, Jaina sighs. ‘No, guess not.’

 

‘So, when do we leave?’ Sylvanas asks.

 

‘I get my wages for this month in… three days? Then we have enough money to book a train and a hotel.’

 

With a noncommittal hum, Sylvanas grabs the blanket and draws it up a bit higher. Jaina barely holds back an exasperated groan, but turns off the lamp and flips over to her side. The fallen angel keeps shifting around, pulling the blanket off Jaina’s feet. And eventually off her entire legs. Jaina tugs it back, Sylvanas pulls it off again. Just when Jaina wants to tell her to stop being so childish, Sylvanas gets up, making the bed wobble.

 

‘I am going to train,’ she announces, walking to the door in nothing but her boxershorts and the sports bra.

 

Jaina reclaims the sheets and nods. ‘Don’t break the anchors. They were a gift of a friend.’

 

When the fallen angel is about to close the door, she calls after her: ‘And brush your teeth! You didn’t even go to the bathroom before dumping yourself into bed.’

 

The noise that Sylvanas makes when she closes the door could be called a laugh, if a small one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they are both miserable again...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did this chapter turn into a sickfic? Because I wanted to write sickfic. I also wanted to write Sylvanas being a bit softer.
> 
> Also I rushed this chapter and that's readable...

The phone that Jaina gave her is a strange thing. Jaina had described it as and old model, but a working one. Whereas the human has a version with a smooth screen, Sylvanas is now holding one with nine buttons underneath a smaller screen. She can fold it as well, by pressing the two halves against each other, so the whole phone closes with a _snap._ No, she had definitely not spend at least ten minutes folding and unfolding it, the morning that Jaina had handed her the phone.

 

Now, however, playing with it is the last thing on her mind. It is beeping irregularly, which meant that Jaina is trying to contact her. Something that would supposedly only happen if there was danger. So she does what Jaina had instructed her to do; pressing the green button in the lower left corner once. Then she puts the device to her ear.

 

‘Hey Sylvanas!’ Jaina’s voice sounds through it. She does not sound particularly panicked.

 

‘What is wrong, Jaina?’ Sylvanas asks.

 

‘Oh, nothing really. I just wanted to say that I’m coming home later than usual. Something went wrong here, at work, and I have to help fixing it.’

 

‘Alright… is there anything I can do?’ Sylvanas tries to hide how relieved she is.

 

‘You don’t have to.’ Even through the phone, Jaina’s smile is hearable. It’s very infectious, too much so. ‘Don’t wait for me with dinner, this is going to take a while. For all their… professionalism, the Kirin Tor are horrible with their databases. God, I can’t believe they screwed up the backup this badly… Well, you probably have no idea what that means?’

 

‘Indeed I don’t.’

 

‘Trust me, it’s a load of crap. I can already feel the headache coming up. Anyways, I have to go back to work! I’ll see you later, evening, maybe.’

 

With a click and some white noise, Jaina ends the call. Sylvanas sighs. Unlike her sister Alleria, she is no Farstrider. She never protected the gateways between realms, only her own lands. Thus, she never learnt much about humans and their culture. She puts the phone on the table and resumes her exercises. Getting her body back in shape feels good, even when her muscles are sore in the mornings. Her scars from the fight with the Kaldorei have faded to neat, thin white lines. Such a difference from the ones that the Lich King inflicted. Then again, Tyrande’s people are very, very fond of their own beauty.

 

After finishing her series of exercises, she cooks. Well, she makes something Jaina called sandwiches, since she doesn’t fully know how to operate the stove. When she has eaten, Jaina is still not home. Making another pile of sandwiches, which she places on the counter, she frowns. Jaina works too much. She has seen the dark circles underneath the woman’s eyes, and the way she sometimes rests her head in her hands.

 

Grabbing a yellow slip of paper from a pile on the table and a pen, she starts writing a short letter to Jaina.

 

_Dear Jaina,_

 

No, that sounds too official. And the word “dear” brings back unpleasant, awkward memories. Just “Jaina” then? Yes, that seems to be the best option.

 

_Jaina,_

 

_Since you were not home while I was dining, I took it upon myself to prepare a bit of food for you. Because-_

 

Why, actually? Sylvanas frowns. This is more difficult than she expected.

 

_Because you should get the chance to rest more, it would be good for you._

 

No, that is way too loving. Besides, humans don’t even use the eloquent sentence structure she was writing down. Crumbling the paper, Sylvanas grabs another note.

 

_Jaina,_

_Since you were not home while I was dining, I made a bit of food for you, so you can get more rest. Thank you for helping me with buying clothing, as we will do tomorrow. I am looking_

 

Was she looking forward to it?

 

_Jaina,_

_Since you were not home while I was dining, I made a bit of food for you, so you can get more rest. Thank you for helping me with buying clothing, as we will do tomorrow._ ~~_I am looking_~~ _I hope it will be a pleasant experience._

 

_~ Sylvanas_

 

There, done. Sylvanas puts the note next to the plate in the kitchen and makes her way to the bedroom. Later that night, she hears Jaina come into the bedroom as well. At that moment, her senses tell her that it’s already past midnight.

 

~~~~~

 

Jaina wakes up. One of her feet is pressed against… she thinks it’s Sylvanas’ shin. Her alarm rings, so she blindly grabs for her phone on the bedside cabinet. After successfully turning it off, she sits upright.

 

And falls back into bed as dizziness overtakes her.

 

Slowly becoming aware of both the pounding in her head and how weak she feels, she swallows away a bitter taste. Putting a hand to her own forehead, she winces when she feels how warm it is. She is feverish, has a blinding headache and isn’t too sure that she could stand. Still, she has to try. Work is waiting.

 

She makes it halfway to the door before leaning against the wall, as black spots dance over her vision. Groaning in frustration, she moves to take another step, wobbling on her feet. Then a strong arm around her waist steadies her. Sylvanas steers her to sit on the edge of the bed. Then, without a word, the fallen angel puts her cold hands on Jaina’s temples, closing her eyes.

 

Jaina huffs and worms herself out of Sylvanas’ grip. ‘This is nice and all,’ she says, dimly aware of how hoarse her voice is. ‘But I need to go to work now.’

 

‘You cannot go to work. You have a fever.’

 

‘Only a little.’

 

‘Not “a little”. I was trying to heal you… as I used to be able to do. A slight illness like this should have been easy. But I’ve lost that power, it seems. Still, you are in no state to go to work.’

 

Oh how Jaina hates it to have her own words thrown back at her. But the fact that she is currently holding on to Sylvanas’ arm like it’s an anchor in a storm tells her that the fallen angel is right.

 

‘Alright, alright,’ she mumbles, reaching for her phone. Under Sylvanas’ watchful gaze, she rings her work.

 

‘Hello? Jaina Proudmoore calling in.’

 

‘Jaina, dear, you sound ill,’ Modera answers.

 

‘Yeah… I am. I don’t think it’s wise to go to work today-’ Sylvanas snorts in the corner of Jaina’s vision. ‘- is that alright?’

 

‘Of course. I honestly thought you were going to faint, yesterday night.’

 

‘I’ll do some stuff on my laptop-’

 

‘No, no,’ Modera cuts her off. ‘I will tell Khadgar to take over and get his lazy butt on the job.’

 

Laughing despite herself, Jaina thanks her boss and ends the call. She sinks back into the pillows and rubs her eyes. Then she shoots upright again. ‘Shit!’ she calls out. ‘There’s no food. I wanted to do groceries yesterday, but since I was home so late…’

 

Frustratedly burying her head in her hands, Jaina groans. ‘There’s four packets of instant noodles in the cabinet but that’s it. No bread, no coffee, no dinner stuff!’

 

This was stupid. Very stupid. Jaina takes a few deep breaths, pressing her palms against her forehead. It feels warm and sweaty, her head as well as her hands. Sylvanas’ hands had been much colder and thus much more pleasant. The fallen angel asks how she can aid Jaina.

 

‘Boil some water in the electric kettle. Just fill the thing with water, put it back on the heating eleme-... the thing where it stood on and flip the red switch at the bottom,’ Jaina says. She hopes the her description is accurate. ‘When it beeps, pour water and the noodles in a bowl and bring it here. Don’t forget a fork.’

 

Sylvanas slowly nods, turns to the door and opens it. ‘I shall make that for you.’

 

‘Oh, and help me up.’ Jaina holds out her hand for Sylvanas to grab. ‘I still need to shower. Feeling sweaty all over.’

 

For a few moments, Sylvanas just stares at her, narrowing her red eyes and assessing the situation, which Jaina thinks to be: _helpless human in bed should be assisted to the bathroom to become a helpless human in the shower._

 

Then Sylvanas swoops in and gathers both Jaina and the blanket in her arms. Effortlessly, she carries her to the bathroom, swiftly striding through the corridor. Jaina tries not to lean into Sylvanas’ bared shoulder, despite the definite promise of cool skin against her feverish head. A blush rises from her neck into her cheeks, especially when Sylvanas braces her with one arm against her chest to open the bathroom door and Jaina feels her muscles flex underneath the skin.

 

After carefully putting her down, the fallen angel leaves quickly, taking the blanket with her and leaving Jaina befuddled. After drinking some cold water from her cupped hands, which only dims her blush marginally, she undresses and steps underneath the shower. With a towel around her drying hair, yet the collar of her pyjamas still got wet, so it presses uncomfortably into her neck, she reenters the bedroom. Sylvanas is sitting next to bed on a chair, eyeing the questionable contents of the bowl with instant noodles. She has propped both of the pillows up against the headboard, so Jaina can sit comfortably.

 

‘Are you going to stare at me like that all day?’

 

‘I have to make sure that you do not get yourself in a worse state than you already are,’ the fallen angel replies. ‘You need to recover quickly so you can aid me in-’

 

‘Your revenge plot. Yes, I know.’ Jaina huffs and grabs the bowl of soup. It’s surprisingly well made, though she stirs it a few more times with her fork to dissolve any clumps of flavour powder. ‘It’s very selfish, Sylvanas. Telling me that I need to get better just so I can help you.’

 

She doesn’t know where the sudden bitterness comes from. Perhaps her illness makes everything feel raw and worse. Still, she cannot resist another snappy comment before starting to eat. ‘I have a life too, besides you and your quest.’

 

‘This… this would have been much easier if I could heal you with but a touch,’ Sylvanas murmurs. To Jaina’s unabashed surprise, the fallen angel’s face has coloured slightly. Her ears are tipped red and she does not look Jaina in the eye anymore. ‘I suppose this means that we will have to postpone our journey to your family’s residence?’

 

Sylvanas is embarrassed.

 

It takes a few moments before Jaina realizes. Now her ears grow red too. ‘Yes, it does,’ she mumbles.

 

She focuses on her bowl, eating in silence. Sylvanas sighs and stares dejectedly at the blankets. After a while, she throws a slip of paper and a pen onto the bed. For a shopping list, it occurs to Jaina. Mumbling a thank you, she puts her bowl aside and starts writing things down. Her headache makes it difficult to concentrate, but eventually she thinks she has listed all the essentials. Sylvanas is silent as she writes, silent as she hands the list to her and silent when standing up to leave the room. Jaina wants to call after her, but her voice comes out as a rough cough instead. After clearing her throat, and not missing how Sylvanas’ ears flick upright in alarm, she says:

 

‘There’s an empty pack of meds on the table. Painkillers and such. Take that with you and buy the same thing when you’re in the store. You should also grab a pair of jeans, socks and wear my boots. You’re skinny enough to squeeze into them, I think.’

 

A failed attempt at making the fallen angel laugh. She just nods marginally and goes to the bathroom to wash. Jaina sinks back underneath the blankets. Her head is still pounding, the fever makes everything feel clammy again. The worst thing however, is that she knows she’s touchy and easily irritated when she’s ill. She is aware but cannot prevent it from happening. In a sense, she is glad that she will not have to go to Boralus just yet. No, she would rather take a dozen fevers and another two grumpy fallen angels than face whatever her mother still thinks of her. Luckily the fever also makes it hard to concentrate on the issue that lies there. Yet still, she cannot shake the memories from that disastrous day from her mind.

 

And he had been right. Arthas had been bad for her. Extremely bad. Jaina feels her throat clench and bitterly laughs into her pillow.

 

There is such irony in it. She is finally ready, at least, she likes to think that she is ready, to face Arthas. She has someone by her side who seems to know what she is doing. Meanwhile her father is still dead and the rest of her family still hates her.

 

Sylvanas returns. She rustles with clothing and Jaina slowly opens her eyes. Now dressed in a somewhat small pair of jeans and the recently washed sports bra, the fallen angel stretches her arms and takes a few deep breaths before closing her eyes. Just when Jaina wants to ask what she is doing, she feels the hum of magic in the air. It is exactly the same sensation she felt when Sylvanas had her pinned to the couch and shed her human form right before her eyes.

 

Now, the fallen angel does the opposite thing. A pale skin tone seems to melt over her grey one. Her ears shorten dramatically and her eyes shift to that strange silver-blue colour. Her horns disappear, crumbling to ashen smoke. In comparison to her demonic appearance, Sylvanas’ human form seems nearly disappointing.

 

Jaina quickly averts her eyes from the hint of toned abs that Sylvanas has gained over the course of a few days because of all her exercising. Now happy for the coverage that the blankets give her, she hides her blush into the sheets and says:

 

‘There’s money in my wallet, the blue leather one on the table. Just take it all with you, should be enough for what I’ve written down.’

 

‘I will,’ Sylvanas stiffly answers, before picking a shirt from the closet and turning to the door.

 

‘Oh, and please don’t forget the coffee.’

 

~~~~~

 

Sylvanas stares at the shopping list for a few more moments before tucking it in the pocket of Jaina’s blue coat with the empty medicine packaging she indeed found on the table. As she walks down the stairs of the flat, she begins to blush, drawing up her shoulders and stuffing her hands into her pockets to hide it. What in the world had she been thinking, just picking Jaina up like that, carrying her as if she was her lover. If she had still possessed her wings, she would probably have cupped Jaina with them.

 

Driving the useless, unnecessary, unwanted thoughts from her head, she marches down the street to the supermarket that Jaina mentioned. She feels odd. It is shameful not to be able to heal a simple fever anymore. Though her healing abilities were never very good, which was common in her family, bruises and a sickness were never a problem. As she walks over the pavement, she tries to pay no mind to how tight the jeans are or how they constantly threaten to rise above her ankles when she takes a step. Jaina’s boots are way too small as well, so her toes are uncomfortably squeezed into the noses.

 

When she makes it to the store, she grabs the shopping list out of her pocket and scans it. “ _take a cart, look to the left when you enter. there’s a coin for them in my wallet, same place as the money_ ”, is the first thing that Jaina wrote down. And indeed, in the wallet is a small coin with the same garish blue logo that adorns the forefront of the store. It fits exactly into the slot on one of the carts. Sylvanas is quite proud of herself that she navigates the cumbersome human technology without driving over her own toes. The only stores she visited in the time that she was tracking Arthas, or rather Jaina, on her own were small stores like bakeries and greengrocers. Things that reminded her of the markets and shops in Quel’thalas.

 

Amongst the things that Jaina has written down are “ _apples - goldenbark_ ”. A small smile pulls on Sylvanas’ lips as she selects a few of the designated cultivar. Bringing one up to her nose, she takes a deep breath. Unfortunately it smells like nothing. No fruity, tart smell that she expected. The fruit is very much inferior to the kind she knows from her homeland. On top of that, she is getting a strange look from an older lady on the other side of the aisle, so she quickly moves on.

 

Jaina’s next note is “ _Milk. Clefthoof or skinny milk if they don’t have that”._ Unfortunately she has not written down how much, so Sylvanas grabs two cartons just to be sure that they have plenty. She works her way through the list, from meat and those deceivingly tasty frozen pizzas to coffee, of the brand Fairwind, and the medicine that Jaina had requested. She also comes to the conclusion that whatever humans use to wash their clothes smells terrible and that there is a severe lack of honey bread in the store. The last thing on the list is, written in a hastier scribble than the rest, “ _whatever you meant with “fresh herbs””._ Baffled, Sylvanas reads it twice over to make sure she is not imagining things. No, apparently Jaina really did remember that she wanted to have those a few days ago. Despite currently lacking long ears, she feels the blush wanting to set the tips of them aflame.

 

When all is said and done, she has two large bags with groceries to carry back to the house. An employee asks if she needs help with it. He does so quite rudely, in Sylvanas’ opinion, not even finishing with “my Lady.” So in response, she shoulders one bag with ease and gives him a dirty look as she carries the other one in her hand without much effort. At least she is back to strength again. It is more of a relief than she wants to admit to herself.

 

Jaina is asleep when she has returned to the house. Her golden hair is sprawled over the pillow and her mouth is slightly open. Sylvanas quite avidly tries to forget about the nature of their strange conversations while she quickly walks out of the bedroom, slamming the door perhaps a little too hard. Then she continues to do double the series of exercises she usually performs, losing herself in the practiced motions she has known ever since her ranger’s training and relishing the way her muscles pull and ache afterwards. When she flexes in the mirror she sees that there is still a long way to go before she is back in shape. Yet there is a slight definition of muscle where there was only skin and bone a few weeks prior.

 

When she checks up on Jaina again, the woman is still sleeping. In a way it calms Sylvanas to see that she is resting, and no longer working herself to death. The sooner she was healed, the sooner they could retrieve an item of Arthas. Despite what Jaina had said in the morning, she still wants to hurry along and get to Icecrown Citadel as quickly as is possible. Yet Jaina has to rest and she knows that stressing her further will do neither of them any good.

 

When Sylvanas turns to the door again, Jaina makes a noise in her sleep. Her brow is furrowed and she groans, arcing off the bed and breathing rapidly. Within seconds, Sylvanas is by her side. But when she reaches out to wake her, the fallen angel hesitates. Would it be the right thing to do, touch her? Jaina thrashes in her nightmare again. She opens her eyes, unseeing, pupils dilated in fear. Sylvanas grabs her clammy shoulder as gently as she can and slowly shakes her.

 

Jaina struggles weakly, until at last she awakens with a gasp.

 

‘No! Father, I didn’t-’

 

Her eyes flick rapidly through the room, breath still quick. Then she spots Sylvanas besides the bed and shrieks shrilly. ‘My god, I didn’t see you there!’

 

‘You were having a nightmare,’ Sylvanas says.

 

At this, Jaina clutches her arms to her chest and shivers. She seems to want to disappear into the blankets. When Sylvanas moves closer to pull the sheets over her trembling form. Jaina shrugs her off and turns onto her side.

 

‘Sorry,’ she mumbles. ‘I… I need a moment alone.’

 

From the way she sniffles, Sylvanas can hear that she is crying. Knowing nothing better to do, she leaves for the kitchen. While preparing a soup with the things she bought, she thinks back to what Jaina cried out. The evening when they finalized their plan to go to Jaina’s family, the woman had already said that she was not on good terms with them. Yet she had called out “father”. Sylvanas sighs, hacking vegetables to pieces with such force that her knife bites into the plank with every cut. There is nothing she can say to Jaina. Her own family is largely dead because of her, after all.

 

The old rage that never really ebbed away comes boiling back. Sylvanas snarls and hisses lowly. Arthas took her mind and set her upon her kin, cutting a path towards their Spire and slaughtering everyone inside. Only her two sisters had escaped the massacre. Without even noticing, she has shifted to her demonic form again, black nails cutting pits into the plank.

 

Once she had that magic signature, she would eviscerate him.

 

~~~~~

 

The soup was a surprise. When Sylvanas had offered her a bowl of the rich, tasty meal, she had gladly accepted. Its warmth sat pleasantly in her stomach and she had already succeeded in pushing the entire nightmare to the back of her mind. The meds made it easier too, enveloping her mind in a fuzzy haze and doing away with the pressing headache. Even the nagging thought that said she should not do it this way disappeared.

 

‘You can cook better than me,’ she giggles to Sylvanas. ‘Good… ‘s really good soup!’

 

‘Thank you.’

 

Sylvanas is mostly concentrated on her own bowl, eating away fervently. Sometimes she shoots Jaina a strange look, halfway in between judging and a concerned frown. At least, Jaina thinks it’s a concerned frown, it could just as well be a normal, scowling frown. She does not think about it for too long.

 

When Sylvanas has brought the bowls back to the kitchen, she had briefly paused by the bed, making an odd gesture to the bed, as if she wanted to grab something. Then she had withdrawn rather quickly and stormed out of the room, bumping her tail into the doorframe on the way out. When she returns, empty-handed and smelling ever so slightly of toothpaste, everything still feels fuzzy for Jaina. A pleasant haze of painkillers has covered her as nicely as the warm blanket. She can still vaguely feel the fever, but even than has faded to the background. However, she knows it will return full force when she awakens again, be it the next morning or in the middle of the night. Not that it matters much, she has a fallen angel to take care of her. Giggling quietly to herself about the mad thought, she is slightly startled when the bed wobbles as Sylvanas sits down.

 

Unhesitatingly, the fallen angel discards the too tight jeans, kicking them off and peeling the socks off her feet too. Then, to Jaina’s unabashed surprise, she pulls the shirt off too, throwing the green garment onto the clothing pile at her feet. In her admittedly dazed state, Jaina cannot suppress the noise that comes out of her mouth. At the high-pitched _hmm_ , Sylvanas turns to her, only causing Jaina to laugh.

 

‘You’ve gotten muscles again,’ she says, barely aware of her dopey smile. ‘They’re impressive.’

 

Sylvanas stares at her for a long time, narrowing those beautiful ruby red eyes and twisting her mouth into a dozen micro-expressions before settling on a mumbled “thanks.” She takes a long time to settle on her back, sighing deeply and making a little growly noise that sends a blush up Jaina’s face.

 

After some time, she says: ‘By the way, Sylvanas -’ Her voice sounds weird in her own ears. She blames it on the painkillers. ‘I think you have a beautiful last name… That other angel said it, on the roof. Windrunner, _hmm_?’

 

‘It holds unpleasant memories,’ the fallen angel murmurs.

 

‘But we are going to fix that.’ Jaina reaches for Sylvanas’ shoulder, laying a hand onto the cool skin. She does not know why.

 

Sylvanas hisses sharply, shrugging off the hand and turning to face Jaina, lips drawn up and those wicked fangs glittering. Then she relaxes marginally.

 

‘You are ill, Jaina… You ought to rest.’

 

‘I ought to rest.’ Jaina starts laughing. ‘Yes, I know.’

 

They are quiet. Jaina wonders if what she said a few minutes ago has sounded strange to Sylvanas. But she cannot bring herself to care. The headache starts to make itself known again. Since it must have been some hours since she took painkillers, she thinks she could take some more. But she does not want to bother Sylvanas to get them for her and does not have the energy to it herself. Sleep isn’t getting to her just yet.

  
‘What are you going to do when you face him, anyways?’ she asks.

 

‘Kill him, of course. It is the only way I can regain my powers,’ Sylvanas states.

 

‘Really? You just… kill him and _poof,_ you’ll have wings and everything again?’

 

‘Yes. When I reclaim my honor by killing him, I can break the accursed spells with which he transformed me into this monstrosity.’

 

‘You’re not a monstrosity.’

 

Jaina wants to reach out and trace a finger along Sylvanas’ horns, gleaming like ebony in the low light. But she reconsiders, shuffling marginally closer to the fallen angel instead.

 

‘What spells are you talking about?’ she softly asks.

 

‘I shall tell you later. When you are not ill anymore.’ Sylvanas turns on her side, away from Jaina. The blackened scars on her back cut harsh paths along her grey skin. Reaching out truly now, Jaina rests her fingertips against the rough skin.

 

‘Don’t.’

 

The malice in Sylvanas’ voice takes her aback. Mumbling an apology, she retreats and turns on her side as well, trying to fall asleep despite the headache that is slowly starting to bloom behind her eyes again.  

 

~~~~~

 

The worst thing about being around a sick human is that Sylvanas can feel it. She feels the fever and the headache, it is like a heavy presence in the air besides her. She has always felt those things, as did her family, her fellow quel’dorei. Even though she is no healer, she used to be able to heal a simple illness when she sensed it. It unnerves her. She wants to go to the couch and sleep there instead, yet she cannot leave Jaina to suffer alone.

 

Leftovers from her quel’dorei days. She curses her weaknesses. From her desire to feel those soft fingers against her scarred back to the sickly sweet compassion that she swallows down.

 

 _Jaina must recover quickly_ , she thinks. _The sooner she is free of illness, the sooner I… we can travel to his accursed Citadel, the sooner we can kill him. Then I can go back to Quel’thalas to make certain that my people will never suffer such a downfall again. And Jaina can…_

 

What could Jaina do?

 

Sylvanas wants to turn around to steal a quick look at the human, but knows she will find those hazy blue eyes open.

 

 _That medicine makes her act strange,_ she thinks. _As if she is inebriated._ The word “soft” arises in her mind, but she banishes it from her thoughts. Yet no matter how hard she attempts to ignore it, even going so far to think back to the nightmares that torture her daily, she cannot forget the bright, if a bit dopey sound that Jaina had made. And the things she had said, about her musculature, that she was not a monster.

 

Swiftly, Sylvanas gets out of the bed, haphazardly throwing the blanket off and rushing out of the room. She drinks a glass of ice cold water and opens the window on a tiny crack to get a breath of equally frigid night air. When she has calmed herself down and has shoved her weaknesses aside, her main priority, the quest for vengeance, is front and center in her mind again, she retreats to the couch and curls up for a few restless hours of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They keep on avoiding it don't they?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have dead Proudmoores, an old friend, a jealous fallen angel... lots of fun stuff.   
> This chapter is mostly a set-up for the family drama that will commence in the next 3 :')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The people in the shop are all NPC’s in Dalaran, just like the shop itself, which is an armour store there :) I thought it was appropriate to use here. The book that Jaina reads is also an in-game item. Something from Mists of Pandaria. Yes I know I’m taking big liberties with canon when describing Taelia and Bolvar’s story but screw canon.

A few days later, when Jaina had mostly recovered and had managed to arrange one more day off adjourning a weekend, she had just finished booking a hotel in Boralus when Sylvanas came into the living room.

 

‘Alright,’ she says, closing the tab in her browser and looking at Sylvanas across the room. ‘I’ve just booked a room in a hotel by Unity Square for two nights, next week. We’re going by train, from the station here in Dalaran, through an underwater tunnel, stopping by Brennadam in Stormsong Valley before arriving in Boralus. It will take about three and a half hours. It’s a quick train.’ 

 

Sylvanas nods, zipping up Jaina’s blue coat, which she had taken without asking. Sighing, Jaina supposes she could wear her raincoat. 

 

‘We’ll arrive next Friday, so we have two days to try to get what we need. Then we return here Sunday evening. Now-’ she opens the website of her bank and proceeds to check her account. ‘Let’s see…’ 

 

She squints at the screen, checking twice if she really sees that obscenely low balance. ‘Well, I hope I can buy you something reasonable with this.’  

  
Closing the laptop, she sighs. As if it needed to be rubbed in how little money she has. When she picks her raincoat off the coat rack, Sylvanas walks into the corridor after her. 

 

‘When I am cleansed of his vile power, I will bestow all the riches of Quel’thalas upon you,’ she says gravely. ‘You will never have troubles like these again.’ 

 

‘Oh, that’s really nice of you, and not necessary.’ Jaina unlocks the door and gestures for the fallen angel to follow her outside. ‘But I have no use for “all the riches of Quel’thalas.” Not now anyways. You're only able to give me those  _ after  _ we have defeated arthas. I need money now and the journey to Boralus is eating away at what little savings I had.’ 

 

Somewhat crestfallen, she locks the door behind them and makes her way downstairs. She still tries to convince herself that she is doing the right thing by helping the fallen angel. Sylvanas follows her, dragging her feet in Jaina’s too small shoes. 

 

She takes Sylvanas to a second-hand store that she knows is open on Sundays. It is called Langrom’s, and bears the slogan “(Previously) Dalaran’s finest!” on a board above the shop window, which never fails to make Jaina laugh. She opens the door, stepping into the too brightly lit store. It smells a bit musty, most likely because of the multitude of different items for sale. She knows that it used to be an open market hall, before the Langrom’s bought it and converted into a shop. 

 

‘Rafael!’ she calls out. ‘Are you in? It’s me, Jaina here.’ 

 

‘He’s in the storage,’ Valerie Langrom replies from behind the counter. ‘Won’t believe the amount of broken stuff we got yesterday. Seems like people don’t always get that “second-hand” doesn’t mean “unusable”. It’s giving me and my brother back aches.’ 

 

‘Which is the entire point of this shop,’ Jaina says. She knows that they have had this problem since she first came here, nearly two years ago, looking for furniture and clothing after barely being able to afford the house. These people know of her breakup, her difficult times and her money shortage. ‘Anyhow, I’m looking for some clothing. For her.’ 

 

Sylvanas nods stiffly at the shop owner, presumably in greeting. 

 

‘Well, you know how the system works. Good luck, hope you find something you like.’ 

 

Valerie disappears behind the counter, entering what Jaina assumes to be the storage through a door and slamming it behind her. Jaina can hear her shouting at her brother. 

 

‘Sorry, she’s cranky. Because of all the useless things they’ve gotten.’ A stout man who Jaina knows as Bragund Brightlink takes her place behind the counter. 

 

‘Well, you’re not a garbage dump.’ 

 

‘Exactly,’ he says. 

 

Jaina then takes Sylvanas to the clothing section. She is relieved that her interactions with the fallen angel have not dampened her ability to converse normally with other humans.  _ Other humans. _ Now that is a thought she never thought she would have. 

 

‘Look at the collars, waists and surfaces of the clothing,’ she tells Sylvanas. ‘There’s a little sticker on each one. The ones marked with red are the cheapest, I believe purple is the most expensive. There are dressing rooms in the back, in the right corner. They smell like sweat but get the job done.’ 

 

Since Sylvanas only reacts with a curt nod, she retreats to the corner with books as the fallen angel starts rifling though the racks of clothing. Once she has found a suitable book,  _ The Emperor’s Burden,  _ she settles on the musty leather couch next to the shelves and starts reading. After some time, Sylvanas walks by with arms full of clothing. Jaina hears a muffled noise of disgust when the fallen angel enters the dressing rooms. She giggles to herself. Rightly so, she had already guessed that Sylvanas would hate the smell. Shortly after, the fallen angel marches to the racks again, placing the clothing back and selecting new ones. The process repeats itself a few times, while Jaina reads through the storybook. 

 

After some time, Sylvanas comes to stand in front of her. ‘I have chosen,’ she announces. 

 

To Jaina’s surprise, she is still wearing the clothing that she put on in the morning. ‘Why don’t you wear some of it? That’ll be much more comfortable than my stuff. Put the little stickers on your hand, that way it’ll be easy to calculate the prize, for the cashiers.’ 

 

With another one of those odd stiff nods, Sylvanas steps back into the dressing room, scrunching up her nose preemptively. To Jaina, it’s quite obvious that she is uncomfortable in the store. While she herself actually likes the relaxed nature of the second-hand shop, it’s obviously not suited to the former angel’s tastes. 

 

When Sylvanas emerges again, Jaina has put her book back into the shelves. As she sizes Sylvanas up, she feels heat rise to her cheeks. In the heavy black cargo pants, short sleeved dark green shirt and leather jacket, Sylvanas looks very nice. Jaina could imagine her as a soldier or bodyguard of sorts. Hastily, she turns to the counter, nearly stumbling over her own feet. As Bragund peels the stickers off the clothing and off Sylvanas’ hand, which causes her to frown so deeply that Jania fears she will resort to violence, Jaina counts the articles of clothing. Three shirts, a pair of dark blue jeans, the cargo pants, a burgundy hoodie with white patches on the pockets, a small stack of underwear, some sort of bracelet with wings as its clasp. 

 

_ Too much money gone from my poor wallet,  _ she thinks. But she knows it’s a necessary investment, Sylvanas cannot wear her clothing forever, especially not during the battle they will surely have to fight. She sees a singular purple sticker and her eyebrows shoot up. ‘Where’s that for?’ she asks, pointing it out. 

 

‘The shoes,’ Sylvanas says. ‘I could not find comfortable footwear for a lesser price.’ 

 

Her feet are clad in black army boots. Jaina winces but nods all the same. 

 

‘Isn’t this one a bit too small for you?’ the cashier holds up another shirt. It’s deep blue with long sleeves. 

 

Sylvanas stares at him as if she wants to sear out his soul. ‘That one is for Jaina,’ she grates. ‘Since I… tore one of hers.’ 

 

‘Oh,  _ tore,  _ huh?’ 

 

‘N-not like that, trust me,’ Jaina hastily interjects before Sylvanas can commit a crime, even going as far as to lay her hand onto the fallen angel’s arm and stop her from digging gouges into the plastic of the counter with her nails. 

 

When they have exited the store and walk home, Sylvanas’ face is still stormy and Jaina is still blushing. She wishes to know what is going on in the fallen angel’s mind, but decides not to push it. Not particularly looking forward to having Sylvanas in this state as company for the entire evening, she tries to think of a way to cheer her up. Before she can succeed in that admittedly difficult task, she hears her name from across the street. 

 

‘Jaina! Hey, Jaina, that’s you, right?’ 

 

Jolting, Jaina searches the opposite side of the road. She knows that voice, but cannot connect it to a face in an instant. Next to her, Sylvanas tenses, a low hiss rolling from her throat. 

 

A figure comes running towards them, a young woman. Her brown hair bobs up and down as she crosses the street. 

 

‘Watch out, Jaina,’ Sylvanas warns. ‘It could be an ally of Ar-’ 

 

‘Taelia!’ Jaina runs up to her friend, embracing her soundly. Slowly letting go after getting a few hearty slaps on her back, she looks up and down her figure. ‘Tides, no.’ 

 

With a grin on that bronzed face that Jaina knows all too well, Taelia laughs. ‘Tides,  _ yes. _ Come on, we both knew it would happen sooner or later.’ 

 

‘Yes, but now  _ everyone  _ in Boralus is taller than me,’ Jaina grumbles. ‘Anyhow… why are you here, in Dalaran?’ 

 

‘Work.’ Taelia taps on the laptop bag she carries with her. ‘I still work for Cyrus Crestfall, and I have to get some signed documents from here. Important stuff. And you?’ 

 

‘I live here now! Been… slowly patching myself up.’ 

 

‘Finally got rid of him?’ 

 

Despite the subject, Jaina chuckles weakly. ‘Two years ago.’ 

 

‘We haven’t seen each other for so long then.’ 

 

‘Indeed, we haven’t.’ 

 

A somewhat awkward silence falls. Then Taelia clears her throat. ‘So  _ ehm _ … I’ve been spending a lot of time with my father recently. My real father, not Cyrus.’ 

 

Jaina gasps. ‘I thought he was - you know?’ 

 

‘Yes, everyone thought that.’ Taelia frowns and caves in a bit. ‘I only found out that he was alive when he was nearly dead, ironically. Do you know about the explosions in Stratholme?’ 

 

Instantly, Sylvanas steps forward, crossing her arm over Jaina’s chest. Her eyes start to burn red around the irises. ‘What about Stratholme?’ she sharply asks, spitting out the city’s name like it’s poison. 

 

‘Whoa, calm down there.’ Taelia turns to Jaina, who grasps Sylvanas by the wrist and lowers her arm. She feels how the fallen angel trembles and makes a mental note to ask her about it later. 

 

‘There have been some weird factory explosions in Stratholme,’ Taelia explains. ‘Culprit’s never been found or arrested. My father was caught up in one of them. You know that he worked there, briefly. He was badly burnt, but he lived. Cyrus… Cyrus got a message from him, nearly a year ago. And so we were reunited.’ 

 

Jaina slowly nods in understanding. ‘I read about the explosions in the news. But I didn’t know that your father was one of the victims. I’m terribly sorry, Taelia!’  

 

The brunette shrugs. ‘He’s alive, that’s what counts. He will most likely be in a wheelchair forever… but I heard he was lucky to have survived. Besides-’ she laughs. ‘I’ve made a some cool modifications on his wheelchair. Makes it look like he’s sitting on a throne! Anyways… do you still have the anchors?’

 

Brightly laughing, Jaina nods enthusiastically. ‘Of course! They’re good… good paperweights. And they remind me a bit of home.’ 

 

‘You should really come to Boralus sometime soon, then. Talk with your brothers, make sure that Katherine doesn’t glower so much at everyone. And relax a bit, sail some.’ 

 

So many painful things in a few sentences. Jaina averts her eyes from Taelia’s happy grin. She does not appear to know the full extent of what has happened in Boralus. Perhaps because she had her own set of family issues to deal with. Briefly, Jaina feels a stab of jealousy, since Taelia has dealt with hers well. And she still has a father, whom she spends time with. 

 

‘I - I’ll try to come soon… when I have the money for it,’ she quietly says. She has to keep Sylvanas’ plan under wraps, since it will be hard enough to face her mother again, even without anyone knowing that she is helping a being from a different world and that her ex is a demon. It feels terrible to lie to Taelia, and she cannot look at Sylvanas, out of shame. 

 

Taelia frowns. ‘You look tired. You’re not working yourself to death again, are you?’

 

‘I’ve been ill, a few days ago.’ 

 

‘Well, please don’t make it any worse! We don’t need any more dead Proudmoores.’ 

 

Jaina’s heart drops into her stomach. The old feeling of the cold hand of guilt squeezing her throat shut returns. She wants to speak, but cannot manage more than a whimper. 

 

‘Sorry, sorry that was wrong to say!’ Taelia clasps a hand in front of her mouth and lays the other one onto Jaina’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Jaina. Honestly…’ 

 

‘It-it’s okay.’ 

 

Jaina does not know what’s worse, the grief that threatens to overwhelm her or her friend’s stricken look. She blinks back her tears and shakes her head. ‘It’s alright.’  

 

‘Okay… if you say so.’ Taelia takes her phone out of her pocket and flicks it on. ‘Oh god, I really need to leave. The documents are waiting. I’ll email you in the evening, so we can chat up a bit more, alright?’ 

 

‘Yes, that’s okay.’ 

 

_ At least I have time to make up some subtle excuse,  _ Jaina thinks. 

 

As Taelia turns around to cross the street again, she watches her go with a pain in her heart. It feels terrible to have to lie to her, and even moreso because she would not believe the truth. 

 

Suddenly the brunette turns around. ‘Oh, and Jaina! I didn’t know you liked them so sullen and silent!’ she calls out. 

 

‘What? She… she’s not-’ Jaina yells after her, but her voice gets lost in the roar of the traffic and Taelia has disappeared when the cars have driven by. For a few moments, she stands baffled and at a loss for words on the sidewalk. The last thing she needs is rumours being spread in her hometown, even if they aren’t harmful ones. 

 

‘Dead Proudmoores?’ Sylvanas asks. The fallen angel seems to know the exact way to sour the mood further. It makes Jaina feel bitter and awkward. 

 

‘Not now,’ she mumbles. ‘Let’s go home.’ 

 

~~~~~

 

Sylvanas sighs while she hangs her newly bought leather jacket onto the coat rack. It smells like someone else and she hates that. But it is the best thing she was able to find. Having arrived in the living room, she feels the strong urge to shed her disguise. An unnatural itch runs up and down her limbs. She had never particularly liked staying disguised, despite that it is one of the few powers she still possesses. Apart from the newly gained shadow stepping and the screech that she never wants to use. 

 

Focusing, she concentrates on the arcane binds underneath her skin that seal her human disguise onto her form. With a roil of power, they snap. Small wisps of fiery arcane erupt from her skin when the colour drains away, leaving the sickly grey that she is all too accustomed to. She feels her spine stretch to accomodate the tail and her forehead being pulled a little tauter because of her horns. Then there is the brief burn of the scars on her back. At least it is not as absurdly painful as the first time she transformed in front of Jaina. It seems that the longer she stays disguised, the further she weakens and thus the more painful the transformation becomes. She owes Jaina much, far more than she wishes to admit to herself. When she opens her eyes again, the room blurs for a moment and she reaches for the solid wood of the table to steady herself. Jaina chooses just that moment to walk in. 

 

‘Are you alright?!’ she calls out, running up to Sylvanas with her hands reaching for the fallen angel’s shoulders, but reconsidering at the last moment. 

 

‘A momentary weakness,’ Sylvanas says as the room stops spinning. ‘It always happens after the transformation.’ 

 

Jaina still looks concerned, frowning deeply. ‘You sure?’ 

 

‘I am.’ 

 

Sylvanas rubs up and down her arms, the short sleeved shirt she had chosen proves to be a good decision. The bony spikes on her arms cannot ruin the shirt like this. 

 

‘Will you tell me what’s up with Stratholme now?’ Jaina asks. ‘Apart from it being the city where Arthas wanted to move with me. With, as I told you, is one of the things that broke us up since it’s way too far from Dalaran, where I was still studying.’ 

 

She had forgotten about that damned city, for a brief few moments. While there is a long story behind it, on her end, Sylvanas settles for a shrug and says: ‘It is also the city where Arthas has made many gateways into this world. For the invasion that he planned, and might still be planning. Thus, it is where we will go to find one of them, by tracking his magic as I spoke about to you.’ 

 

‘The invasion that you think I prevented?’ 

 

‘After which he set his sights upon other realms, yes. I am sure the thought never completely left him, though.’ She grits her teeth. ‘Those explosions that the girl talked about… I simply know that they are his doing. They happened before I wrenched myself out of his clutches. Which was… well, roughly two years ago.’

 

‘Do you think that he left me because you… left him too?’ 

 

‘I do not know. There must be some kind of connection, but everything that happened in that period is a bit of a blur to me. I only remember a lot of pain, and… all memories of finding a way to this realm are vague. I found an old bridge to this world when his troops pursued me, but they sealed it in an attempt to prevent my crossing.’ Sylvanas unconsciously clenches her hands into fists so her nails dig into her palms. ‘They failed. I was too fast.’ 

 

With a sigh, Jaina sits down on a chair besides the dinner table and opens up her device that Sylvanas has come to know as a laptop. ‘Alright… I suppose there must be a weird connection. Don’t really need or want to know what exactly. I’ll make some dinner soon. I have to work first. 

 

From her crestfallen appearance, Sylvanas can guess all too well that whatever the girl from her hometown had touched upon is a painful subject. She leaves it be. As long as it does not hamper their mission, there is no need for her to pry into Jaina’s personal life. And she does not wish to, either. Getting attached any more than she already is would be bad and sentimental, especially since there is much at stake. When she thinks about the upcoming confrontation with the Lich King, worry forms a weight in her chest. If she can salvage her armour from its storage in the Citadel, she should at least stand a chance, as strong as she has gotten.  _ Yes,  _ she tells herself.  _ I am stronger than I have been ever since he struck me down in Quel’thalas’ fields. I must stand a chance.  _

 

There is always more than can be done about her bodily state. So she searches for the anchor weights again. She has met the woman who gave them to Jaina now. It pains her how cheerful Jaina had become in her presence, since she had barely seen that side of the human. The closest that Jaina had been to truly happy would either be her giddy state after she had taken that medicine, or the way she had softly stroked her scars on one of their first evenings together. 

 

_ Together  _ is a word that Sylvanas does not want to think, and neither is  _ softly.  _ She doubles down on her tempo, lifting the paperweights with so much vigour that she feels sweat pool on her brow. With every lift, her scars, the old ones and the new ones from her battle with the Kaldorei, stretch in many weird and uncomfortable ways. More distraction, just what she needs. Yet no matter how much she tries to keep her mind on the job, as she has learnt centuries ago in her ranger training, her thoughts continue to wander. 

 

It is ironic, how much she and Jaina have in common. From their states, which have been much better in the past, to their dead families and their lives that have been broken by Arthas. 

 

Sylvanas growls, not noticing the stop in the steady rhythm of Jaina’s fingers, typing away at the keyboard. She puts the weights away and drops to her hands and feet for a few grueling series of push-ups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylvanas is jealous~~


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaina is miserable, Sylvanas is miserable and they will be miserable for another chapter

Jaina is on a ship. On an old ship, like the one her father used to have. Before her family was forced to sell it when he died, which was one of the last things that she had heard from them. The very last thing was that her mother hated her, which was no surprise.

 

She walks over the bridge, down the stairs, she carefully steps over a large hole in the woodwork. It strikes her as strange, but she pays no further mind to it. Then she hears the voice. Her own, childish voice. She does not sound any older than 10. By the low door to the captain’s cabin stands a figure. Daelin Proudmoore, in the prime of his life. On his arm, a chubby blonde girl that Jaina recognizes from the pictures that her mother once put on the mantelpiece. It’s her. 

 

‘Dad, are we ever gonna sail with this one?’ little Jaina asks.   

 

‘This one doesn’t sail anymore, my lil’ sunshine. It would sink if we took it a mile out of the harbour!’ 

 

The child paws at the woodwork above the door as Daelin ducks underneath it. ‘ _ Aww _ , can’t we repair it?’ 

 

‘Tell ye mother that!’ Daelin laughs. ‘Come on, there’s a present for you on the captain’s big desk.’ 

 

Jaina, the adult one, steps forward. It’s a treasure map, she knows. A hand drawn treasure map that her father made. It leads to a real wooden chest stuffed with candy that he buried between the roots of a tree by their favourite picnic spot. As the small Jaina waddles into the cabin, she steps up to the door, excited. But her father turns around halfway, his hair suddenly greyer than she remembers. 

 

‘Not you,’ he growls. 

 

Jaina frowns, she is sure that he had said “Go on, my brave little captain Jaina!”, that day. Then Daelin fully turns. The sight of him makes Jaina freeze in fear. His face is a skull, the left side caved in, blood and rotting flesh hanging off it. She wants to shriek, but no sound comes out of her mouth. Daelin takes a stumbling step towards her and opens his mouth full of broken teeth. 

 

_ ‘Murderer!’  _

 

She awakens, screaming. And bangs with her forehead into Sylvanas’ horns. They are harder than they seem at first glance. The fallen angel hovers over her, frowning in that strange way that is both a scowl and a concerned look. Jaina waves a hand in front of her head, then settles it on her hurt skin. 

 

‘Go away,’ she croaks, and to her surprise, Sylvanas actually does so, noiselessly slipping off the bed and retreating to the hallway. 

 

Jaina groans. Today would have been difficult enough without that nightmare. She doesn’t even know what to say to her mother yet. 

 

~~~~~

 

In the train, which Sylvanas finds both noisy and cumbersome as opposed to the teleporting and portals of the quel’dorei, Jaina is silent. She stares out of the window, only jolting in her hard and uncomfortable chair when a woman’s voice says “we are now approaching the city of Gilneas, please remember to take all your belongings with you when leaving the train”. A few minutes later, the train dives into the underwater tunnel and the darkness closes around them. The blackness outside their window makes Sylvanas think about her fall, which unnerves her greatly. To shut out the thoughts, she asks Jaina for the headphone device that the woman had taken with her. Jaina mumbles that it’s in the bag, to which Sylvanas fishes it out of the blue fabric bag. When she has successfully installed it on her head, after fumbling with the thing for several minutes, she comes across the Fiery Angel Symphony whilst scrolling on Jaina’s phone. Now with the music to prevent her memories from bubbling up to the surface, she closes her eyes and attempts to enjoy the soothing tones. 

 

After but a few minutes, Jaina nudges her with a foot in her shin. ‘You’re humming,’ she says. 

 

Sylvanas pulls one part of the headphones off her ear. ‘What?’ 

 

‘You are humming along with the music. I can hear it. Stop.’ 

 

She sounds very irritated. Sylvanas tries to keep quiet, until she gets another hard prod against her shin and Jaina tells her to stop swaying to the melody. Just as Sylvanas wants to argue that she cannot respond to the human’s every whim, the train surfaces from the underwater tunnel. In the slow transition from darkness to light, Sylvanas looks at her own reflection in the window. The seemingly unnatural face of her human form stares back at her. It never fails to irritate her that her disguise looks more like a quel’dorei than her current, monstrous from. Much time to contemplate, she does not have. The announcer’s voice returns with a simple message: “Welcome to Kul Tiras.” 

 

‘Welcome home,’ Jaina says with a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. 

 

‘Are we going to exit the vehicle?’ Sylvanas asks. 

 

‘No, Brennadam’s first. Then comes Boralus.’ 

 

Boralus comes soon enough. When the train drives over the hills surrounding the city, Sylvanas gets an admittedly breathtaking view of the bay and the city. A few sailboats dot the waters, peacefully floating, since there is barely any wind. The green and brown roofs of the houses seem to indicate that the city is quite old, which pleases Sylvanas. The older district of it, built on higher terrain that the more modern harbour, vaguely resembles some of the more rural cities and villages in Quel’thalas. 

 

Jaina isn’t looking at the city. She merely stares at her shoes until the train stops by the station. Then she grabs her bags and crudely motions for Sylvanas to follow her outside. When they are out of the train, she marches straight towards the exit of the station, not slowing down a little. Even when they walk over the streets, she does not change her vigorous tempo. 

 

‘Where are we going?’ Sylvanas asks. 

 

‘Unity Square, where to hotel is.’ 

 

They arrive soon, after a short walk. The hotel, called Ravens Flock Tavern, is located on the right of the plaza, while a big building with multi-coloured flags stands squarely in the middle. When Sylvanas asks what it is, Jaina mumbles something about a town hall. When pausing before following her into the hotel, Sylvanas sees the green and gold flag. It bears exactly the same colours as the sailing competition shirt that Jaina owns. 

 

The hotel itself is dingy, dark and smells weirdly damp. Jaina checks in and gets the room key while Sylvanas wonders how long it has been since the floor carpet was last cleaned. Their room is of an equally low quality, with hard, squeaky beds and mold on the windowsills. Jaina drops her luggage onto the bed closest to the window and huffs. 

 

‘This place… it’s never been savory, but it’s worse than I remember.’ 

 

‘It is only for two nights,’ Sylvanas finds herself saying, to her surprise. Though, she has slept in worse places, both during her time with and without Arthas. 

 

Not much time later, they stand outside again. Jaina turns to look down one of the big streets. As Sylvanas follows her gaze, she too sees the harbour. Next to her, Jaina shivers and makes a choked noise in her throat. Then, stiffly, with visible hesitation, she walks towards the right side of the road, following the sidewalk down to the harbour. 

 

‘She might be at the wharf,’ she softly says. ‘I’m going to check there. Otherwise we’ll go to the house.’ 

 

_ The _ house, not  _ my  _ house. Sylvanas bites the inside of her lip, but does not know anything she could say to console Jaina. And so they walk in silence, only pausing for a red light every now and then. Until a car honks next to them and the window is rolled down. 

 

‘Jaina?’ 

 

Instantly, Jaina freezes, stumbling back a few paces. 

 

‘What are you doing here?’ the driver asks. He leans on the car’s door with his elbow, so his messy blonde hair and beard are slightly illuminated by the sun. 

 

‘Tandred…’ Jaina says.’ I need to speak with mother.’ 

 

‘Hang on, I’ll pull up in that bystreet. I can’t stand still here with the car.’ 

 

While he drives the brown bus into the side street, jaina says to Sylvanas that he is her younger brother. The fallen angel nods, understanding. From the man’s thick eyebrows, broadish nose and high cheekbones, she had already assumed some sort of familial relationship. 

 

‘So -’ Tandred says while opening the door and leaning sideways in the car seat. ‘You want to speak with mum? She’s going to flay you alive.’ 

 

‘Very funny, Tandred,’ Jaina grates. ‘Could you…. call her, perhaps?’ 

 

‘ _ Hmm,  _ ‘right.’ Her brother takes out his phone and starts tapping away. ‘She’s at the wharf, trying to get Ashvane off our asses, so it might take some time before she respon - oh wait… hi mom.’ 

 

Jaina is completely tensed. Sylvanas spies her biting on her lip and shivering anew. 

 

‘Yeah… well, Jaina’s here - ow, please don’t yell - she wants to talk with ye. No I don’t know why - Jaina, why do you want to talk with mom?’ 

 

‘I need to get… things from the house. From those old boxes in the attic.’ 

 

‘She wants to take a look at the old stuff she stashed in the attic… Yes, I know that you don’t want - what?’ Tandred looks sideways at Jaina, then at Sylvanas and back. ‘No, she ain’t alone. She’s got a girl with her.’ 

 

Sylvanas bristles at being called “a girl”. 

 

‘I’ll tell them that. But, you know… she came all the way from Dalaran, don’t you think it’s at least worth a lil’ chance? I know you don’t care where she lives, I was just saying-’ 

 

‘Just tell her that it’s serious. And that I want to talk about father,’ Jaina cuts him off. 

 

Tandred lays his hand on the phone to muffle the input sound. ‘Ye think I want to get my ears yelled off?’ 

 

‘Fine. Then tell her I need to talk about… just… important stuff, okay?’ 

 

Nodding, he says: ‘She wants to talk about important stuff. Yes, I said I’ll tell them that - well you’re at the docks now, aren’t you? No, I know you don’t want her to come there… oh, okay. Well, see you lat-’ 

 

He stares dejectedly at his phone for a few seconds. ‘Guess she hung up.’ 

 

After putting the device into his pocket, he says: ‘You can come to the pier, the one where the boat races always start. But eh… she can’t come with you.’ 

 

‘Why not?’ Sylvanas snaps. 

 

Tandred merely shrugs. ‘Mum doesn’t want that. Wants to speak to Jaina alone.’ 

 

Inwardly, Sylvanas fights the urge to insult him. She must go along, since any chance of failure could mean a complete reset of her plan. And that is not something she wishes to face again. Instead she tries to put on her sweetest smile. 

 

‘Of course,’ she says silkily. But as soon as Jaina’s brother has said goodbye and driven down the street, she turns to Jaina. ‘Of course not. I am going with you.’ 

 

‘Why? To piss off my mother even more? That is the last thing we need right now.’ 

 

_ We.  _ Jaina said “we”, and it causes a small flurry of undefined emotion in Sylvanas’ chest. ‘I will wait somewhere behind you, while you talk with your mother,’ she says, feeling a tiny spark of relief when Jaina’s scowl softens. 

 

‘Okay.’ 

 

After the mumbled answer, Jaina straightens her shoulders and starts to march down the street in the same quick tempo as before. When they near the harbour, the street broadens, so Sylvanas can walk next to Jaina. The woman is as pale as a sheet, staring at the bay with a terrified look in her eyes. A sheen of sweat, cold, most likely, pearls on her forehead. She appears to be prone to show her fear, Sylvanas notes. Well, everything must be endured to further her plan. 

 

Jaina continuously fumbles with a lock of hair, until half the hair on the right side of her head is a mess. She is trembling, Sylvanas notices. Biting on her lip so hard that Sylvanas can smell the copper in the air. And from the way her bottom lip shakes, she seems to be barely able to hold back her sobs. The fallen angel doesn’t say anything. Once more, she would not know what.  

 

The street becomes more uneven as they near the harbour. Several long piers stretch into the sea. The salty air, blueish water and boats are somewhat alien to Sylvanas, since the navy of quel’thalas was not great, and it was not her field of expertise. Jains suddenly halts, stopping Sylvanas with a stiff arm. She says something incomprehensible, nodding at the pier. Sylvanas follows her gaze. A short, corpulent woman with a large knot of greasy black hair marches towards them, turning back to the pier every few paces to hurl insults at a second figure, who has their back turned to the harbour. 

 

‘I’ll make sure you’ll sleep on the streets! You and your entire foul nest!’ the woman yells, several drops of spittle flying from her mouth. ‘Be sure of it, Katherine. You’re not even a real admiral!’ 

 

She hops into a large, dark red car and drives away at too great a speed. Jaina sighs in relief. 

 

‘At least she didn’t see me, yet,’ she says.

 

‘Who is that?’ Sylvanas asks. 

 

With a huff, Jaina shakes her head. ‘You don’t want to know.’ 

 

‘I do.’ 

 

‘Someone who’s been bothering my family ever since I can remember. Tandred said that my mother is trying to shake of Ashvane, didn’t he? Well, that’s her.’ 

 

It seems as if Sylvanas has to make do with that meagre explanation, since Jaina gestures at a few wooden benches that line the quay. ‘Wait there,’ she commands. 

 

‘No, I must go with you, as I said. I will wait on the pier, a few paces behind you. I have to make sure-’

 

‘Wait  _ there _ .’ 

 

Jaina’s tone is one Sylvanas has never heard before from her. She sees the anger in the woman’s blue eyes, threatening to spark into being every moment. And so, she slowly turns to the benches and sits down on the hard surface. At least she knows how Jaina’s mother is called, since the other woman, Ashvane, loudly yelled it a minute ago. She watches as Jaina takes one last deep breath, clenching and unclenching her fists, preparing for the inevitable confrontation. Then she walks onto the pier with stiff little steps. Her mother turns to face her. 

 

Katherine Proudmoore is small. She is old in her face, with greying hair and wrinkles in. She is not old in her body, though. No, the way she stands straight as a mast and has her hands clasped behind her back makes Sylvanas think of a military officer. And so does the upwards tilt of her chin and the steely look in her eyes. Her mouth is a thin line, pale and pursed. A woman who has seen a lot and experienced a lot. Her sea green peacoat and dark purple trousers give her a certain air of royalty. So does the haughty, distasteful look with which she regards Jaina. 

 

‘Mother… I -’ Jaina starts, but her words fail as she looks upon Katherine’s face. 

 

The voice of the elder Proudmoore is sharp and strict, like Jaina’s when she is angry or irritated. She barely even looks at her daughter, seemingly staring right through her instead. 

 

‘So, my wayward daughter returns to the family she betrayed.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put myself through watching Jaina’s BfA cinematics a lot of times for chapter 11… now I am miserable too, to suit the characters


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family tensions rise, Katherine is pissed off, Jaina is sad, Sylvanas... Sylvanas is a lot of things but mostly desperate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is tiny. It’s short but not sweet. No, it’s short and miserable, like the previous one except it’s more miserable. 
> 
> Thanks [xore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xore/pseuds/xore) for beta-reading this one!!

 

Katherine’s icy glare makes Jaina’s chest feel hollow. The elder Proudmoore cares not for the way her daughter caves in. ‘Why?’ she asks. 

 

The little bit of courage that she thought to have built up when walking to the harbour leaves Jaina in an instant. Upon hearing her mother’s voice, seeing her features and being reminded of so, so many things. Mostly that one, fatal night. 

 

‘Look at me.’ Her mother’s sharp voice cuts through the haze with ease. ‘And tell me why you are here. Stop wasting my time.’ 

 

‘I… I - As Tandred said, I need to look through the… the things in the attic,’ Jaina stutters.  

 

‘The attic?’ Katherine lifts her chin a fraction higher. The look in her eyes is so cold that Jaina thinks to feel her blood freeze in her veins. She can scarcely look her in the eyes for more than a few seconds. 

 

‘The attic?’ Katherine repeats. After a mute nod of Jaina, she continues, putting a biting accent on every word: ‘My attic. In  _ my _ house, in my city. Where I have lost  _ my  _ husband?’ 

 

For a fleeting second, Jaina instinctively casts a glance to her right. To the hills around the city, to road where they drove, that night. It takes all of her courage to nod again. From the whisper of her mother’s coat, she knows that Katherine had just looked the same way. 

 

‘I’m sorry, mother. Terribly sorry,’ Jaina says, hesitatingly lifting a hand to lay on her mother’s arm. Katherine takes half a step backwards, turning away sharply. 

 

‘For what?’ 

 

‘F-for father… for Derek.’ It seems as if the air turns cold around them. Jaina feels the clammy hand of guilt and grief slowly close around her throat. She looks at the sea, where the breeze stirs the waves into a green-blue, opaque surface. ‘For what happened… in the car.’ 

 

‘You are sorry for the aftermath, not for the initial conflict.’ Katherine sharply taps with the heel of her boot against the planks of the pier, making Jaina look up at her again. ‘What was the source of the things that happened, Jaina?’ 

 

The way she spits her name makes Jaina shiver. She briefly wonders what Sylvanas is thinking, back on the bench where she directed the fallen angel to. She must make for a very pathetic sight, trembling and slumped as she is. ‘M-my relationship,’ she mumbles. ‘With Arth-’ 

 

‘No.’ 

 

‘That is what me and father were-’ 

 

‘No. What started the events that caused the  _ death of my husband _ -’ Katherine makes a point of accenting all four of those words, making Jaina want to sink through the planks of the pier. ‘- was your ignorance. Your stubbornness. Your absolute refusal to see that horrid man for what he really was.’ 

 

_ What he really was.  _ With another flash of guilt, mixed with a fear that threatens to make her sick, Jaina realizes that even when she did know that Arthas was a horrible person, she still hadn’t seen the entire truth. Neither did her mother know that, or anyone for that matter. Though telling the truth now seems a bad idea to her. As far as she can still think straight, she knows that revealing Arthas to be a demon would only lead to ridicule and more refusal. Thus she takes a deep breath and nods again, hoping for a sliver of relief. But Katherine Proudmoore was never the woman to grant her relief in a heated discussion. Not when they still shared a house, not now either. 

 

‘So you admit it?’ she asks, though it isn’t a real question. 

 

‘Arthas had me within his grasp,’ Jaina tries. ‘I couldn’t see what he was. I was blinded, infatuated. I was so far away from my family, mother, studying all the way in Dalaran.’ 

 

‘And you fell for him. Why so?. I did not raise you as a short-sighted, meek girl. You let yourself become that. Distance is not an excuse for such behaviour.’ 

 

Jaina shivers violently, clasping her arms around herself. She can still taste remnants of the blood in her mouth, from where she bit her lip when walking to the harbour. She wants to flee. To run to the little enclave in the bay where she and her brothers used to play as kids. To throw up and cry and shrivel into a pile of miserable, short-sighted, meek girl until everything has passed. Then she remembers. She remembers the horrible, blackened scars on Sylvanas’ back, all that remains of her wings. The emaciated body of the fallen angel, that night when she had shed her disguise. She remembers Sylvanas’ story, the evening that she touched her marred skin and felt the being calm down underneath her hand. She remembers the Kaldorei who were determined to kill her for crimes she committed under Arthas’ mind-control. She remembers the look of fear that Sylvanas had given her when she lay injured in the bed, in  _ her  _ bed. The fear of being left alone, in pain. 

 

And she remembers who brought on all that pain. The pain that Sylvanas had endured, the pain the she herself had endured. The pain that he was still causing to who he had in his clutches. The pain that had to be stopped. Jaina clears her throat and swallows away the tears that rise in the corners of her eyes. She has to try, one more time. 

 

‘Mother… can I come to the house? To look at the stuff?’

 

‘The house is for the Proudmoore family.’ Evidently, Katherine had not seen the storm of emotion on her face as all the memories of the past few weeks passed through Jaina’s had. That or she simply did not care. 

 

‘W-what?’

 

‘The house, Jaina, is for my family.’ The way her mother glares at her makes her feel extremely stupid. Stupid, small and miserable beyond comprehension.

 

Yet it can always get worse. 

 

‘And you are no daughter of mine.’  

 

Jaina gasps. She cannot form words. The icy weight of dread sinks lower into her chest, seemingly cutting off her airways.  _ No _ , she thinks.  _ Mother, no! You cannot mean that!  _

 

Before she can voice anything other than a broken sob, the planks underneath her feet tremble ever so slightly. Her mother lifts a hand clad in a purple glove. The footsteps stop. 

 

‘Katherine Proudmoore,’ comes Sylvanas’ silky voice. 

 

With every fiber of her being, Jaina wishes that the fallen angel will spontaneously sprout wings and fly away. This, as she established earlier, is absolutely the very last thing that they need. 

 

‘This is… important. For her,’ Sylvanas continues, stepping forward until she starts next to Jaina. 

 

Now Jaina desperately hopes that mindreading is somehow one of Sylvanas’ powers. 

 

‘She must search through-’ 

 

‘No,’ Katherine says, barely raising her voice. If anything, she lowers it, speaking softly yet threateningly.  

 

For the first time, Jaina sees Sylvanas flinch when speaking to a human. The fallen angel is at a similar loss for words as she feels herself. Katherine takes the opportunity to step forward, so she stands chest to chest with Sylvanas. 

 

‘Objects can be replaced. Everything in those boxes is replaceable,’ she says. Despite the fact that Katherine isn’t leaning forward, Sylvanas takes a small step back. 

 

‘People, however, cannot be replaced. My husband cannot be replaced.’    
  


Sylvanas frowns. On her face, Jaina can see a myriad of emotions, much like how she felt a moment ago. She guesses that Sylvanas is thinking about the people that she lost. And the absolute worst thing is that she knows that her mother is right. Her father is not replaceable, for neither of them. 

 

‘Out of my sight,’ Katherine says, swift as ever, not giving them the time to recover. 

 

Sylvanas clears her throat. ‘You must consider giving her a chance. Arthas manipulated -’ 

 

‘Do not tell me what I  _ must _ do. You have no right to interfere in family matters.’ 

 

‘These matters also concern me and my-’ 

 

‘Sylv- Syl,’ Jaina mumbles, barely able to stop herself from saying the fallen angel’s full name. ‘Let’s go.’ 

 

She gives a weak tug at Sylvanas’ sleeve, then lets her hand slip off the fabric. Listlessly walking back, she sighs in vague relief when Sylvanas’ footfalls join hers. 

 

‘This wasn't your business, Sylvanas.’ Her chest feels hollow, empty. As if a part of hers that had hoped for anything resembling a reunion has finally been ripped out. 

 

‘It is. Because you are my business. You are… very important for the -’ 

 

‘Shut up. I know that I’m important for your revenge plot and I know that you wanted to use me to get something for you.’ 

 

‘Jaina, this is the only way to find Arthas. The only way to reclaim my wings, my honour, my legacy with the quel’dorei!’ Sylvanas takes a swift step and blocks Jaina’s path. The tiniest hint of red bleeds into the silvery blue of her eyes. ‘I need your help! Without you, I would not succeed. I will be stuck in this wretched state forever if you don’t obtain what we are after!’ 

 

‘I don’t care.’ Jaina shoves Sylvanas aside, marching past her and not caring about the surprised cry of her name. She has never seen the fallen angel so explicitly desperate, only when physically impaired and tired. But it does not matter to her anymore. After losing the man she thought she loved, her, or rather his, house, most of her belongings and money, she has lost her family too now. She does not know if Sylvanas is following her still. She does not know whose fault it is that her father died. Arthas had a part in it, but was it truly him? Was it not her own stupidity? 

 

Now she is starting to doubt everything. The situation surrounding her father’s death. Whether or not she made the right choice by letting Sylvanas stay and not kicking her out of the house as soon as she had been healed. Or even letting her into her house for the second time.

 

_ Old habits die hard _ , she bitterly thinks. This is precisely how the first few weeks in her house in Dalaran had been. After the sheer stress of getting the house and obtaining a faulty air mattress had passed, she had spent at least two weeks doubting everything from the breakup to whether she should cancel her study, dye her hair black and disappear to a different city entirely. 

 

Turning back to the pier, she sees that her mother is still there. She is looking at the sea, suddenly seeming small and forlorn, older and frailer than Jaina thought her mother would ever look. Katherine turns around. For a fleeting moment, she takes a single step in the direction of the harbour, lifting an arm and clenching her hand to a fist, before turning around and burying her head in her hands. 

 

Bitterly, Jaina turns to the bulk of the city of Boralus. Her mother forsook her, disowned her and left her. Only afterwards, she seems to actually  _ feel _ something. Perhaps, Jaina thinks, that is a characteristic of all Proudmoores. Only seeing things when they are unable to be repaired. She needs to get out of this city. Out of Kul Tiras. Back to her snug house in Dalaran where everything is warm and comforting and right. She needs to forget about everything. Her family, Sylvanas, Arthas. But Sylvanas is still following her, with teeth bared in a grimace and fists clenched by her side. Jaina knows, as she has always known, since that mindset was firmly taught in her family, that she cannot outrun reality. There is only one way to go, and for now that is to the hotel. 

 

She knows that the night will be worse than the ones that came before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Jaina did not like what Sylvanas said.
> 
>  
> 
> Have you noticed that Jaina calls their mission Sylvanas’ “revenge plot” when she’s angry and “the plan” when she’s not? How do you think that she actually feels about it? And Sylvanas? Is she only vengeful and desperate or does she have ulterior motives?
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter was difficult for me to write, and to balance. If you look at it, Jaina, Syl and Katherine are partially right, each in their own way. I did not want to explicitly write Katherine as a bad person, because she has lost her husband and from her perspective it was Jaina’s blindness and emotional attachment to Arthas that caused that. Jaina herself knows that she was only partially to blame, since Katherine doesn’t know the details of how Arthas emotionally manipulated her to stay with him. Sylvanas is desperate and manipulative in her own ways. Daelin meanwhile had a temper as we know from canon. More about that in chapter 12.
> 
>  
> 
> Okay that was the author explanation, because I felt like it was necessary, see you for the next chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had issues with plotting this chapter, and I have to thank my beta readers [Humbless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humbleless/pseuds/Humbleless) and [xore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xore/pseuds/xore) SO MUCH for helping me. I seriously wouldn't have known what to do if not for you two!! I owe you so much 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, didn’t someone say something about Jaina needing a snickers? Well, Sylvanas gets her something like that.

The night is exactly as bad as Jaina had expected it to be. She is lying on her bed, back turned to the room, crying until she is sure that her eyes will fall out of her head. Sylvanas comes back from a trip to the vending machine, throwing an energy bar into Jaina’s general direction. It lands on her waist and she shoves it off the bed. 

 

‘You must eat, Jaina.’ Sylvanas approaches and picks up the snack, holding it out and shaking so that the wrapping crunches. Every sound is too loud for Jaina’s ears. 

 

‘Not hungry,’ she mumbles. 

 

As the fallen angel sits down onto the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight, she feels Sylvanas’ body brush against her own. Shuffling closer to the wall, she asks what she wants. 

 

‘You know what I want, Jaina.’ 

 

‘Shut up about Arthas’ item.’ 

 

‘Tell me what it is, then I can retrieve it myself.’ 

 

Bolting upright, Jaina exclaims: ‘No! No, you can’t do that. You can’t break into my family’s house!’ Her vision swims and her head starts pounding. She brings a cold hand to her forehead and groans. 

 

‘I must, Jaina. I must stop him… I shall be careful, in your house-’ 

 

‘My mother’s house, not mine! And you’re not going there. My reputation is bad enough already.’ 

 

‘They will not notice me, I swear.’ 

 

‘My mother notices everything.’ 

 

Sylvanas stands up and starts pacing in front of the bed. ‘You would not be able to stop me, Jaina. Why do you defend them so avidly, when your mother just cast you aside?’ 

 

Her words hurt, like a stab to the heart, but Jaina sets her mouth in a grim line and tries not to show it. ‘I’m not defending them. It’s morally just not right to break into their house. Can’t you just go to Stratholme and search for his magic there?’ 

 

‘It would take me weeks, searching in every part of the city, every street, every corner.’ Sylvanas stops pacing and leans over the bed. ‘Tell me what item you were looking for. I will obtain it.’ 

 

‘No,’ Jaina insists, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and sitting upright so she can look the fallen angel more easily into her eyes. ‘Sylvanas, this isn’t right. We both know it isn’t right.’ 

 

In a blink, a wave of power washes over her, rattling the old wooden window blinds and blowing Jaina’s hair into her face. Sylvanas’ clawed hands land on her shoulders, smashing her against the bed as the fallen angel’s frame looms over hers. Sylvanas has shifted to her demonic appearance, her horns glint in the orange light of the room and her fangs gleam, long and white in her mouth. Jaina shrinks into herself, covering her head with her arms and waiting for the fallen angel to snap. But Sylvanas retreats, breathing heavily. Her hair flows in wild streaks around her head. She snarls. 

 

‘What then, Jaina?’ she spits. ‘What then?!’ 

 

‘I’ve caused them enough harm.’ 

 

At her words, Sylvanas marginally relaxes, looking down at her hands. She rights herself up so she is no longer hunched over. 

 

‘Do you - do you wish for me to beg?’ she asks. It seems to be physically difficult for her to spit out those words, with how she scrunches up her face in apparent disgust. 

 

‘First you pace through the room, then I think you’re about to tear me to pieces, then you’re willing to beg? If you get on your knees now I’ll kick you in the nose, like you deserve!’

 

‘Jaina…’ Sylvanas sighs, ‘You don’t understand… you don’t know how much this means to me.’ 

 

‘No, _Sylvanas._ You don’t know what it means for _me_.’ 

 

Jaina stands up, feeling anger boil in her chest. Desperate or not, Sylvanas is prying at things she should not touch. ‘You’re selfish, you have no concern for my issues with my family. No, you just want to further your goals and get out of here. You’ve been doing this… pushy thing ever since I got sick.’ 

 

No matter how much she wants to deny it, or at the very least attempt to ignore it, that was what the fallen angel had been doing. Of course, they had a mission, a plan, and Jaina wants to further it. But not at the cost of her family’s peaceful life and a chunk of her own sanity. Sylvanas held no regard for those things and that had to stop. 

 

‘I need to face him, quickly. He took everything from me, Jaina,’ she says. Her ears are folded against her skull. In any other situation, such as their talking sessions on the couch, Jaina would have pitied her in her distress. Yet now she just thinks that it makes her look like a rabid dog. 

 

‘He took everything from me as well!’ she spits. 

 

‘Not as much as he took from me. I used to be an entirely different being.’ Sylvanas’ eyes glow a brighter red than Jaina has ever seen. The shadows in the room; from under the bed, the lamp, and the open bathroom door nearly seem to be pulled towards her. 

 

Jaina can feel the thrum of power emanating from the furious being’s form. But, against her better judgement, she is not afraid. Ostensibly calm, she meets her eyes with a leveled glare. ‘And I used to have a family, a father, a home. Here in Boralus! You’re using me for your own goals and I hate that! The way you act, with the selfishness and the pushing, reminds me of-’ 

 

‘Do not compare me to him, Proudmoore!’ Sylvanas shrieks. Black smoke, the kind that Jaina had seen when Sylvanas had teleported them off the roof, gathers in her hands. As the fallen angel steps forward, it trails after her, sweeping over the floor. It is deathly cold when a trail touches Jaina’s feet and she stumbles backwards with a yelp. Silhouetted against the light, Sylvanas looks more monstrous than Jaina has seen before. The way the light frames her figure… she can’t help but think of the night her father died, and what she had seen that night. 

 

‘He murdered my family. His Scourge massacred everyone in Windrunner Spire, razing it to the ground. My mother, my aunts and uncles, my little brother! Lirath was five years old when he was slaughtered! I would never, _never_ do such a thing!’ Sylvanas’ voice cracks and her eyes flare in tandem. 

 

Jaina knows that she overstepped. Breathing heavily, she fumbles with an apology for a few moments before her anger gets the better of her. ‘But you _would_ break into my family’s house-’ 

 

‘To get an essential item with which I could end him once and for all!’ 

 

‘Because he killed your family?’ 

 

‘Most of my family and many good rangers. He captured some of them as well, along with me. I was defending the capital of Quel’thalas with my two sisters while my family was killed. I was not able to prevent their deaths and that will haunt me forever! I need to avenge them all.’ 

 

‘At least you have family you can _avenge_ , oh so nobly! Mine… my father died because I was stupid.’ Jaina sits down on the bed, slumping and covering her face with her hands. ‘There’s nothing I can avenge or fix, and my family has suffered enough already. They don’t need a demon breaking into their house.’ 

 

For a while, the only sounds that reach her ears are her own heavy breaths and the odd creak of the bed. The grisly cold sensation of Sylvanas’ magic slowly disappears from the air. Relieved as Jaina is, she can’t help but wonder why the fallen angel seemingly held herself back twice. She hopes that it’s proof of the fact that Sylvanas still holds some respect or thankfulness for her. 

 

When Sylvanas speaks, her voice has lost its power. She sounds as deflated and tired as Jaina feels. ‘What happened, then?’ 

 

Jaina sighs. She cannot put it off anymore, and somehow, Sylvanas deserves to know the exact events of that evening. While she has difficulty seeing it as a fair bargain to tell her story as a trade of sorts for the ones that Sylvanas told her when they could still sit peacefully on her couch, without other angels hunting Sylvanas or the fallen angel’s quest for revenge, she complies. She has not even started when the tears start to prick in the corners of her eyes. 

 

‘It was a stormy night…’ she starts, remembering how the rain beat on the roof of the car and how lightning crackled across the sky every few seconds. She had not been scared, but had been huddled in the back seat all the same. ‘I was so stupid to discuss my relationship with Arthas while we were driving on a dangerous narrow road, higher up in the hills around the city,’ she says, vaguely nodding in the direction of the window before realizing that the blinds are closed and that the hotel is facing the wrong way anyways. 

 

‘He was furious, and he was right. He saw what I was blind to. And when I kept defending that man, he turned around in his seat and yelled at me that I had to leave him, for my own good.’

 

She remembers her father’s fury, his bushy brown beard and the many crinkles that he got in his forehead when he was angry, the street lights zipping by on the narrow road and the hitches of the car, occurring whenever Daelin turned halfway to the back seats. Wiping her eyes, she utters a harsh sob. Sylvanas moves marginally, since Jaina can hear her feet scrape over the floor. When she looks up, the fallen angel only nods quietly, imploring her to go on. 

 

‘The next thing I knew, there was a crash of thunder, louder than before. My brother Derek, who was sitting in the front seat next to my father, called out to him. He said that there was something on the road.’ 

 

Briefly, Jaina glances up to Sylvanas and doesn’t miss how her ears flick to catch every word she says. 

 

‘I’ve always thought that I made it up, out of guilt... the - the thing that I saw. But you -’ Jaina looks the fallen angel into her eyes. ‘You made me think twice. The energy that I feel when you shift forms… I felt it, on that night, in the car.’ 

 

‘It was him,’ Sylvanas hisses. 

 

‘I think so? There was something dark, and I don’t… there was a _flash_ and all I could see was this tall figure wearing… I don’t even know. Armour, spikes, or something. It was gone in an instant.’ 

 

‘A helmet like a crown, skulls on his shoulderpieces.’ 

 

Yes, that is exactly what she saw, that night. Where Jaina had expected a shocked feeling, she is met with only numbness. She slowly nods. ‘My father swerved to avoid it, the car slid off the road due to the rain and - and smashed into a tree. He was dead on impact.’ Jaina takes in a shaky breath, clenching her hands in the bedsheets. ‘I saw it. Derek has been in a coma since the accident. I was lucky to have a few scratches and some bruised ribs.’ 

 

Jaina’s eyes snap to Sylvanas but before she can speak another sentence, the fallen angel says:

 

‘Your father is dead because of him, my family is dead because of him. Do you see now, how important your assistance is to me?’ 

 

 _She still doesn’t get it,_ Jaina thinks. With an exasperated sigh, she shakes her head. ‘No, Sylvanas. That is where you're wrong.’

 

As Sylvanas wants to object, Jaina stands up, cutting her off before she can even start her sentence. ‘Yes, Arthas killed your family and yes, he should pay for that. But my father is dead because of me. Because I was so stupid to start a discussion on a dangerous road. If not for me, he would have seen Arthas standing there! He might have stopped the car. And that is what my mother is right about. So, neither of us can go to her house without her consent.’ 

 

~~~~~

 

 _She still does not understand,_ Sylvanas thinks. This could very well be her only chance to get her revenge and Jaina does not seem to see the importance of their stay in this city, their visit to the house. She knows that she can’t stay in Stratholme for more than a day before being noticed by Arthas’ forces, and finding a portal would take her much more time. 

 

‘Jaina, his death is not your fault… You were blinded by a vile demon. Seduced, entranced, manipulated!’ she says, trying to make the human recall what she told her all the way in the beginning, on the day that she revealed herself. ‘You are not to blame for him being there that night.’

 

It only serves to make Jaina cave in and bury her head in her hands once again. The infuriating combination of sadness and stubbornness is grating. Sylvanas knows that she should not have snapped and pushed her against the bed, but Jaina should not have likened her to Arthas in return.

 

‘Shut up. You don’t know anything about what happened that night. It’s not your memory, it’s mine.’ 

 

Sylvanas wants to reply that she does know what happened, since Jaina had literally just told her but she holds her tongue. Coaxing her into complying is a better option than brusquely continuing their discussion though Sylvanas fears that both things will lead to nowhere and she is slowly starting to regret not going to the house the moment they had left the harbour. Yet she still holds a kind of respect for Jaina. The woman did save her life, twice, after all. 

 

She must try again. ‘You were enraptured by a false visage. He-’

 

‘No, I was naive, impressionable. When he gave me some expensive gifts, I saw him as a prince.’ 

 

 _As he used to be,_ Sylvanas thinks, _before he went mad with power._

 

‘When he invited me to live in his luxurious house, I felt like a queen! He made me shun my dearest friends, push them away from me. And I did it, because he planted lies and rumours in my head. Useless gossip that I never even thought to confirm, all because I trusted him!’ 

Jaina stands up, so she stands chest to chest with Sylvanas. She prods the fallen angel into her shoulder with a sharp, accusing finger and spits the last sentence at her. ‘All so he could take me with him to Stratholme and then what? Take me to his “realm” and make me his brainwashed servant?’

 

Then she pushes Sylvanas aside and storms off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her so hard that the window blinds tremble. 

 

‘No! He wanted to make you his queen!’ Sylvanas calls out after her. ‘Like he wanted to do with me, before he discovered that I was near impossible to break! So he tried harder, but only succeeded in controlling me when he literally took all my free will!’ 

 

It feels cathartic to say that, but also wrong. Sylvanas regrets her words the moment they leave her mouth. Making herself vulnerable won’t further her plans. She walks up to the bathroom door and hears Jaina sobbing inside. The sound pains her deep in her chest, in a way that she does not want to admit. But when she turns towards the rest of their dingy room, the scars on her back stretch and ache. _No, this is the right thing to do_ , she tells herself. 

 

Leaning closer to the door, she says: ‘I tried, Jaina. I tried to be considerate and mindful of your pain and sorrows. I tried doing this your way.  Yet it did not work, so now I shall do it my way. At first light, I will depart. And you will not stop me.’ 

 

More muffled crying is the only answer she gets. With a sigh, Sylvanas returns to the bed. She flops down, wincing at how it creaks. Slowly, her human disguise bleeds over her form again, until her skin is pale and the scars on her wrists are mostly covered. Jaina’s insistent sobbing reaches her ears even when the door is closed. At one point she throws something through the bathroom, most likely a bottle full of soap, Sylvanas idly observes. Tuning it out is difficult and guilt tugs relentlessly at her heart. Still, the fact that Jaina had the sheer audacity to compare her to Arthas overrules her regret. 

 

As the minutes tick by, she slowly formulates a plan. Since Jaina’s mother appears to be very observant, she needs to find a window or something of the like. If that is not an option, she will wrench off some roof tiles and get to the attic that way. Perhaps the item is a small thing, in which case her search would be more difficult. But she should be able to feel the Lich King’s magic when she is close enough. 

 

Jaina has stopped crying, or perhaps she is merely not crying as loudly anymore. Sylvanas looks around the room. From her vantage point on the bed she spies the discarded packaged food that Jaina had thrown onto the floor. As she picks it up, remembering how deceivingly tasty the other things she bought out of that odd machine were, someone knocks loudly on the door. 

 

‘Room service!’ they yell. 

 

‘What do you want?’ Sylvanas sharply replies. Humans have no manners, truly. 

 

‘Got a visitor in the lobby, for Mrs. Proudmoore.’ 

 

Walking to the bathroom, Sylvanas says: ‘Jaina, there’s someone for you. You must come out.’ 

 

‘Shut up, go away,’ comes Jaina’s answer from within. Her voice sounds rough from crying. 

 

Carefully, Sylvanas presses the doorknob down. It is locked, as she suspected. ‘It could be your family.’

 

‘Ma'am, the visitor… she was quite insistent,’ the person from the hotel staff says. 

 

‘Jaina,’ the fallen angel tries again. ‘I am positive that it is your mother and-’ 

 

Without warning, Jaina throws the bathroom door open, so quickly that only Sylvanas’ ranger reflexes save her nose. She is still whirling around when Jaina steps into the hallway, pushing the employee aside and marching down to the lobby. Sylvanas hastily runs after her, hurrying along to catch up. When they reach the stairs that lead to the lobby, Jaina freezes, before doubling her tempo and muttering insults all the way, gradually getting louder until she is standing a foot away from her mother. 

 

~~~~~

 

‘What the hell are you doing here? Wasn’t humiliating me on the pier enough? No? Do you want to do it in public now?’ Trembling with fury, Jaina can barely hold herself back from grabbing the collar of her mother’s coat. 

 

For a few moments, she gets no answer. The silence, unusual for Katherine or any Proudmoore for that matter, makes her look more closely, beyond the fog of rage in her mind. Her mother’s eyes are slightly reddened. Her clothing is a bit disheveled, not in its usual picture-perfect shape. After a few deep breaths, Jaina takes a step back, frowning. She refuses to believe her eyes until her mother clears her throat and says, in a voice as laced with tears as her own: ‘Jaina… forgive me.’ 

 

‘Forgive you? For what?’ Jaina breathes. ‘For what happened earlier? We both know that’s not the problem.’ 

 

‘We must not start this way, Jaina. Let’s not repeat the mistakes we have already made.’ Katherine reaches for Jaina’s hand and softly grabs it before her daughter can jerk her arm away. Her hand feels rougher, but also frailer, older than years ago. But the way she winds her fingers around Jaina’s and rubs her thumb over the back of Jaina’s hand did not change. 

 

Their shared moment does not last too long, however. Sylvanas, having caught up to them, sharply asks: ‘Then you have changed your opinions? Whose fault was it?’ 

 

To her credit, Katherine doesn’t falter. ‘You have hooked yourself a protective one, I see,’ she says to Jaina. ‘We are in an unsavoury hotel lobby, my dears. I will say, for now, that one’s words can quickly poison the mind and… that you’re not accountable for your actions once you have been manipulated in such a way.’ 

 

While Sylvanas nods, Jaina swears that she sees her ears lengthen and her eyes redden. ‘Indeed,’ the fallen angel says. ‘And those manipulators should suffer the consequences.’ 

 

Her voice betrays equal parts relief and her ever present hunger for vengeance. Jaina hopes that she will not rope her mother into their quest, because Katherine would all too gladly partake. Ignoring her mother’s other comment, she manages a faint laugh, which quickly turns into a surprised gasp when Katherine steps forward and embraces her, securing her daughter in her arms. Jaina cannot suppress a soft sob as she leans into the hug, burying her face in the teal fabric of her mother’s coat. In the corner of her eye, she sees Sylvanas move forward, one arm outstretched. Then she steps back again, clenching her hand to a fist. For a moment, Jaina wonders what she wanted, before quickly getting lost in the embrace again. 

 

‘I’m sorry for my anger,’ Katherine quietly says, slowly rocking them back and forth. Jaina feels her own fury melt in her chest. ‘I shouldn’t have talked to Priscilla, knowing it would only make the situation worse. Sorry for losing myself like that. I suppose that Daelin’s bad habits are a bit infectious.’ 

 

When they finally separate, Jaina looks into her mother’s grey eyes. She knows that she cannot expect more apologizing words in a dingy hotel. ‘Do I have access to the house now?’ she carefully asks, seeing Sylvanas tense behind them. 

 

Katherine nods. ‘Naturally, dear. Would you like to relocate right now?’

 

‘Right now? It's midnight, mother!’ 

 

‘So? Hotel checkouts are open until 3.’ Shrugging, the elder Proudmoore looks intently at the hotel staff behind the counter, as if daring them to object. Truly, nothing about her has changed. 

 

Jaina laughs. ‘I'll pick up my bags. Are you okay with moving too, Syl?’ 

 

Sylvanas seems to be frozen, only managing a stiff nod. Her expression is at war with itself as Jaina has seen before - rotating through various emotions, a brief window into her innermost thoughts until settling upon a carefully crafted neutral expression. Now that she is not angry anymore, Jaina’s exhaustion is swiftly catching up to her, and she feels too tired to question the fallen angel’s behaviour. 

 

‘Syl?’ Katherine asks. 

 

Hoping that her startled tone can be blamed on her exhaustion, Jaina hastily smiles. ‘Yes! Syl, that… that’s her name!’ 

 

Her mother shoots her a look that will undoubtedly leave a lot to explain to Sylvanas. ‘Alright then. I will wait here for you two.’

 

The drive to their house is short. Jaina wanted to sit in the front seat to look at the familiar roads and streets, and she is glad to have made that choice. From the broad roads in the city center, with their many little shops and pubs, to the cobblestone streets by the harbour, where the car hitches and bucks like she remembers, everything sends a wave of nostalgia through her and she is nearly crying again when they arrive by the house. Katherine parks her blue car next to Tandred’s brown van and motions for them to open the doors. Sylvanas, who had squeezed herself in the back seat with their numerous bags and suitcases, takes a deep breath of cool night air before following Jaina to the house. 

 

Jaina remembers that one night when she was young, her father had had a violent discussion with another man. She does not remember the exact words, but it had been about the possible demolition of their house. He had been furious and rightfully so. The house is a large cottage, standing a distance away from the others, more towards the harbour than nearly any other house in Boralus. From the outside, it’s dark, with its reddish walls and black woodwork. Yet inside burns a warm glow, exactly like she remembers. 

 

‘Jaina, will you stand there all night?’ Katherine has already opened the door and waves for her to enter. 

 

Blushing, Jaina jogs up to the doorstep, taking a deep breath before stepping into the hallway. It’s narrow and cuts a clean path to the living room. A staircase to the bedrooms is situated in the middle of the hallway and the door to the kitchen closer to the outside door. From experience, Jaina knows that for some reason, that door opens outwards instead of the more logical inwards. She smiles brightly as she follows her mother further into the house, past the pictures of the family that line the wall. A few frames are missing, most of which contained her own face. 

 

‘I’ll grab them from the attic tomorrow,’ her mother says when she sees her looking. ‘Or maybe you can do that, since you’re going up there anyways?’ 

 

‘For sure!’ 

 

‘Oh, and please dump the luggage on the stairs. We’ll carry them up when you go to bed.’ 

 

With minute hesitation, Sylvanas places the bags onto the bottom step of the staircase, as Katherine instructs. She seems uneasy, and Jaina flashes her an apologetic smile. 

 

A clangour comes from the kitchen when Katherine opens that unhandy door. ‘Mum, you’re home! ‘T was taking forever. Did you bring her?’ 

 

‘Yes, Tandred. “Bring her”, I did.’ 

 

‘Jaina!’ Tandred beams as he storms into the hallway to crush her in a bear hug. Jaina groans as she swears to feel her ribs crack. Patting him on the back and mumbling something about being glad to be home into his apron, she gasps for air when he lets go. Silently cursing, she wishes that she hadn’t taken after her mother in terms of height. Then he spreads his arms again and takes a step towards Sylvanas. The fallen angel in disguise immediately steps backwards and shakes her head. Her posture reminds Jaina much of an unwilling cat. 

 

‘Not a hugger, eh?’ Tandred teases. 

 

‘Not very much,’ Sylvanas grates in return. 

 

‘C’mon, you gotta see the rest of the family too.’ Grabbing Jaina by her hand, Tandred leads her into the living room. 

 

‘Rest of the family? Have you bought a cat, to compensate?’ 

 

A muffled laugh comes from near the hearthfire. ‘ _Heh_ , you wish.’ 

 

 _‘No,’_ Jaina says in a near whisper. No, that cannot be who she wants to believe. Her tired mind is surely playing tricks on her. 

 

‘Yes, little sister.’ Derek Proudmoore spins his chair to face them.

 

For a moment, Jaina feels her knees go weak. He looks pale, tired and slimmer than she remembers. His face is gaunt and so are his hands, clutching a newspaper. But he is alive, and not in a hospital bed, where she last saw him. And, most surprisingly to Jaina, he is smiling, putting his newspaper aside and beckoning her. With the speed of a six-year-old running into his arms when he arrived home after days at sea, she sprints across the living room, kneeling beside the chair and hugging him tightly. 

 

‘Derek, you’re _alive_ ,’ she murmurs. ‘You’re alive, you’re here, you’re… Tides, I thought you were gone forever.’

 

Ruffling a hand through Jaina’s hair, her older brother laughs. ‘I promise I won’t leave like that again. A lil’ knock on the head won’t get me down anymore. I’m staying, as long as stars do shine.’ 

 

‘You’re not angry at me?’ 

 

‘Well, there were a lot of stupid people, that night. And, personally, I -’ 

 

‘He woke up about eight months ago. He’s getting along. Oh, and he talked mother into going to you,’ Tandred says while walking into the room. ‘We’ve reached a consensus.’ 

 

‘That being?’ Jaina looks from one brother to the other. 

 

Shrugging, Derek gives them a lopsided grin. ‘Arthas is a dick.’ 

 

‘What?’ 

 

‘That’s the consensus.’ Tandred starts snorting, looking at Jaina with his mischievous eyes. 

 

‘Indeed, he is,’ Sylvanas says as she strides into the living room. She has gotten rid of her leather jacket and wears a rather tight, stylish dark red shirt underneath. Jaina starts blushing lightly. She had not noticed that when she was yelling at the fallen angel, which seems like it happened forever ago. 

 

‘See, she gets it.’ As Tandred walks to the hearth to throw another log onto the fire, he smirks at Sylvanas. ‘Look, mum has a lot of complicated opinions on it, but I always said that that guy was an asshole. Shame he got the drop on us… but what I heard from Derek, dad really needed to slow down on you’ 

 

‘When you weren’t here, he said you’d “always been naive”,’ Derek admits. ‘By all means, forgive him for his anger issues, but know that you weren’t the cause of them. Unfortunate circumstances, Jaina. We’re not mad at you because of it. You were… blinded.’ 

 

Nodding, Jaina rights herself up and swallows away the last of her tears. Slowly, she’s coming to terms with the fact that she is actually in her family’s house again, surrounded by both of her brothers, in front of the hearth like the good old times. The numerous pictures on the mantelpiece remind her of all the things they shared, though as with the photos in the hallway, most of the pictures depicting her are missing, but she knows that they will be added soon again. The dark green curtains are closed, so the cozy living room is bathed in only the reddish light of the fireplace. Warm, fuzzy feelings bloom in Jaina’s chest. She is so glad to be home again.   

 

To make the family complete, Katherine joins them from the hallway. ‘When have you last eaten, Jaina?’ 

 

Jaina has to think about that for a moment. Then she goes red in the face, as she says: ‘Breakfast…’ 

 

Her mother gives her a scorning look, before retreating to the kitchen while announcing that they will eat a late dinner. ‘Do settle, make yourself comfortable, dear. And you too.’ 

 

The last sentence is directed to Sylvanas, who still stands uncomfortably in the door opening. Derek grabs a crutch from behind his chair and makes his way to the table. It pains Jaina to see him like that, but the encouraging smile he wears lightens her heart. When they are all seated and the chairs creak like Jaina is used to, Tandred nods at Sylvanas. 

 

‘So, who’s she? How did you meet her?’ 

 

Jaina thinks for a moment, hoping her uncertainty will appear to them as bashfulness. She could commit to the charade and tell them what they all seem to assume. It would be easier than explain the truth about her and Sylvanas, about Arthas and about what happened in the storm. Yet it feels wrong to lie to them, despite the fact that the reality would be harder to accept. And harder to believe, as she knows from her own experience when Sylvanas revealed herself. All members of the Proudmoore family aren’t prone to believing in the supernatural. 

 

Luckily, Sylvanas decides to go along with her family’s assumptions before Jaina can think too long about it. ‘We met in… ah, it was Stormwind City, I do believe.’ 

 

‘Y-yes, it was!’ Jaina stutters. _That’s where Arthas said he came from,_ she thinks _._ ‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ 

 

‘Funny how fate works sometimes.’ Derek nods while screwing the lid off a small bottle with pills. When he sees Jaina looking, he says: ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got a whole collection of these things. Gotta make sure my body recovers like it should.’ 

 

Accepting troubles and rolling with them like the tides, it seems to be the Proudmoore way. Tandred shakes Jaina out of her mulling before the guilt can get to her again. ‘What’s your name again? I didn’t catch it earlier on.’ 

 

‘Her name is Sylv… ia,’ Jaina hastily says, hoping that the name sounds somewhat normal.

 

‘Sylvia, huh? Nice! So, did it click immediately between you two or was there a time of “will they, won’t they”?’ 

 

‘Tandred, those are private questions,’ Katherine admonishes him while placing plates full of mashed potatoes, beans and sausages onto the table. ‘You don’t have to answer them, Jaina dear.’ 

 

Thankful for the food, Jaina quickly nods and tucks in to avoid answering anything that could poke holes into her lie. She would have to talk with Sylvanas about it later. For now, she is content to eat of the plentiful meal and glance sideways at the fallen angel’s fervoured eating. It occurs to her that staying disguised for the entire day must have worn her out quite a bit. 

 

The only one not eating with vigour is Katherine, who pricks listlessly into her beans and lets them slide off her fork. ‘Jaina…’ she begins. ‘I am sorry… for all I said today. I should not have reacted out of anger, I should have been more rational.’ 

 

‘It’s okay now, mom. Let’s listen to the boys’ wonderful consensus on Arthas and-’ 

 

‘No, I must explain myself, you deserve to hear that.’ The sharp tap of Katherine’s fork against the edge of her plate tells everyone exactly what she thinks about that consensus. ‘I was fed up with everything, angry at everyone. As I said, I should now have let that horrendous conversation with Priscilla Ashvane get to my head. I should have tried to see the situation from your perspective, Jaina. Perhaps I would have seen what you had endured, alone in Dalaran, with _him._ Selfishness is a blemish that nearly everyone in this family carries and… we all have our faults.’ 

 

Jaina feels tears prick in her eyes again. Happy tears this time, the good kind. She wipes them away with the point of her napkin before sniffling in her smile. All is well, apart from the still nagging revenge quest and her lying. For the moment, she is glad to live in a bubble of family happiness before having to search through her old stuff in the morning. When they have finished their late dinner, Tandred collects the plates and asks: 

 

‘Who wants ice cream? Mum, Jaina… Sylvia?’ 

 

Jaina sends him a radiant smile. ‘Big portion, please.’ 

 

They spend the rest of the evening, or rather the night, since the clock slowly ticks to half past one, eating copious amounts of ice cream and talking while relaxing on the couch. Sylvanas still looks uncomfortable, drawing her feet up on the cushions and not speaking much. But Jaina isn’t going to let it ruin her evening. 

 

‘What did Ashvane want anyways?’ she asks her mother. 

 

‘Oh, well… that has been going on for a while now.’ Katherine sighs and frowns. ‘Her trading company is going bankrupt after someone discovered that she had been smuggling illegal materials in the containers of her ships.’ 

 

‘Illegal materials? Like… drugs? Weapons?’ 

 

‘Drugs, weapons, all sorts of unsavoury business. The problem is, she’s scraping the bottom of the barrel and it does not make her any more pleasant. She is… desperate, after many of her sponsors resigned when hearing about the controversy. Some of them are supplying our shipyard now and she isn’t happy about that.’ 

 

‘She wants to buy the wharf,’ Derek interjects. ‘That’s how desperate she is.’ 

 

Jaina bursts into laughter, nearly dropping her bowl with ice cream. Out of breath, she chuckles and wipes her eyes. ‘She… she _what?!_ That ugly toad wants to buy father’s lifework?’ After the confirming nods of her family, she slowly shakes her head. ‘Tides, she’s even more out of her mind than when I left.’ 

 

‘More out of her mind than when she used to chase us across the harbour when we snuck onto her terrain, when we were kids?’ Tandred asks. 

 

His mother shakes a reprimanding finger at him. ‘You provoked her, time after time again. Gave me and Daelin grey hairs with your troubles.’ 

 

‘But it was funny!’ he protests. ‘The way her face got all red when she ran after us through the streets of Boralus, shaking a rolled up newspaper at us.’ 

 

It prompts another bout of uproarious laughter from the family. ‘It _was_ funny, and stupid. Very stupid,’ Jaina says. 

 

When all the ice cream has been eaten and many memories have been regaled, Jaina helps Derek with the dishes. His hands tremble from time to time, but he seems determined to finish the task at hand, even denying Jaina’s help when she wants to take over completely. After some time, he sighs deeply, putting the towel down onto the counter and leaning against it. 

 

‘You saw it too, right?’ he asks. ‘The figure, on the road.’ 

 

Breathing in sharply, Jaina turns and pretends to be very interested in drying a plate to hide the shock on her face. ‘W-what figure?’ 

 

‘On the road, when dad crashed the car. There was someone standing in front of us.’ 

 

‘Didn’t he swerve because of the rain? Everything was - well, wet. Because of…  you know, the rain.’ 

 

‘Jaina, I saw the shock on your face. I saw you looking at the road and at what, or who, was there. It’s the last thing I saw before we crashed and I had a lot of time to think about it.’ 

 

Jaina bites the inside of her lip. She cannot tell him, not yet. Later. Yes, later she can tell everyone, apologize for everything and reveal what had really happened. It would be too much to bear for them, if she explained everything about Sylvanas’ mission and the dangerous things she was doing for the fallen angel. With a stab of guilt in her chest, she sighs deeply. ‘There was nothing on the road, Derek. Just lightning and water.’ 

 

Her brother frowns, increasing Jaina’s guilt by a hundredfold. It’s not fair to lie to him, especially not since he had been in a coma for several months. 

 

When she joins Sylvanas upstairs, the clock has just struck two o’clock. Still feeling guilty, Jaina takes a deep breath when entering her old bedroom, dressed in her pyjamas and an old pair of slippers that they had lying around the house. She is startled by Sylvanas’ glowing red eyes, greeting her in the darkness of the room as the fallen angel sits on the bed, having shifted to her demonic form. She looks tired, her skin is paler than usual. 

 

‘Was that necessary?’ she asks accusingly. 

 

‘What?’ 

 

‘Your elaborate lie? All the pretense, what you are implying?’ 

 

‘Well, technically you started it by saying that we met in Stormwind. Trust me, it’s better to keep this up and pretend we’re more than just… associates. My family deserves a break, and I think they would not like to hear that we are going on a dangerous mission to defeat my evil demon ex. Or that said evil demon ex was the cause of the accident.’ Jaina sits down next to her, ignoring how Sylvanas bristles. ‘I will tell them when we have gotten rid of him. Well, are you going to move?’ 

 

‘Can you not ask them to fetch another mattress?’ 

 

‘We only have a squeaky air mattress that’s approximately one inch thick and neither of us is sleeping on that. It gives you back aches, believe me, I have tried before. Besides… we’ve slept in my bed together, when you were injured.’ 

 

‘Precisely,’ Sylvanas mumbles. ‘I am not injured anymore.’ 

 

‘It’s only for one night, Syl. You can go back to the couch when we’re in Dalaran again.’ 

 

‘Do not call me that.’ With an expression resembling a solid slab of cement, the fallen angel shifts and swings her legs onto the bed. Jaina thinks to know one of the many reasons why she is acting so awkwardly. Seeing her and her happy family must be uncomfortable for Sylvanas. But she is not going to pry, it’s much too late for that. _Besides, there is a good chance that Sylvanas will have a chance at happiness again_ , she thinks, _after we’ve finished her revenge plot._ The fallen angel spoke about having sisters who did not get killed in Arthas’ two invasions of their lands. Surely they would regard her as a hero once he was vanquished. 

 

When Sylvanas settles on the bed, her shirt rides up to reveal the large scar that slices over her stomach. While Jaina has seen it before, when she was washing her in the bath, the low light in the room, with the only source being a sliver of pale moonlight that shines through a gap in the curtains, makes it more obvious. Yes, Sylvanas deserves peace as much as she does. Mentally, she prepares herself for rummaging through her belongings in the attic, the next morning, and dealing with all the memories that they hold. Ignoring the way that the spikes on Sylvanas’ arm dig into her lower back, since the bed is smaller than the one in her own house, she shifts around until she finds a somewhat comfortable position. 

 

And she wonders, even after Sylvanas’ breathing evens out, signalling that the being is asleep, why their dynamic as changed so much. On the first evenings they spent together she was able to touch the terrible scars on her back, even finding the fallen angel leaning into her hands. It seems as if Sylvanas wants to forget about that, deny that it ever happened. _Perhaps_ , Jaina thinks, _perhaps that is her own way of preparing her for the inevitable confrontation. After all, she is the one actually about to kill him._

 

Killing someone. It’s not something Jaina had ever thought of witnessing. But after hearing who Arthas really is and realizing what he has done, she is not fazed by the prospect. 

  
And she scares herself with that thought.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I ever end a chapter on a not bittersweet note? I have no idea. They’re pretending to be girlfriends now, isn’t that huge progress? The big confrontation is coming… do you think they are prepared? 
> 
> Do you have any guesses what the item is that they are looking for?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comment that they might be looking for Arthas’ boxers made me laugh so much that I added a little reference. Thanks, Doom ;)

 

Jaina had missed this coffee. The strong, dark coffee from a little machine that bubbled when she pressed the filter down. It tastes so much better than what she makes with her cheap electrical machine. When she was small she had always asked if she could do that, even when she was too young to drink coffee. As she nurses her warm mug, the one with the sailboat that her mother had grabbed from the highest cabinet in the morning, she peers out of the window. The sea is calm, a watery late-winter sun makes the crests of the waves glitter with silver. Boralus looks soft in this kind of weather, and it makes Jaina smile. 

 

‘Mornin’ sis,’ Derek says as he enters the living room, holding a matching mug in his hand. His crutch taps softly on the carpet as he walks up to the window. He seems to have forgotten about their conversation during the dishes. It is a relief, since she expected him to start about it again in the morning. 

 

Jaina chuckles at the sight. ‘Good morning! The city sure looks nice like this.’ 

 

‘You’d almost forget how nice, huh?’ Derek takes a deep breath and joins her. ‘Did you sleep well? Where’s your girl?’ 

 

Ah, there it is. The sting of guilt that Jaina had hoped to avoid, yet her elaborate lie catches up to her before she has even taken a shower. Sylvanas is most likely washing and disguising herself, she thinks. ‘Bathroom, maybe? She was already awake when I woke up.’ 

 

The last part is not a lie, since the fallen angel had clambered over her and Jaina had heard her nails scratching over the floor. It had made her wonder whether they were retractable or not. She had not been able to sleep anymore and while listening to how Sylvanas opened their bags and suitcases in a search for fresh clothing, she had thought about her relationship with the being, if she could even call it that. Sylvanas seemed to have two moods. One was angry and vengeful, which Jaina disliked but, sadly, understood. The other one was silent and unresponsive, which had been more common recently. Her other moods, the strange clinginess and the brief moments where she had shown an odd kind of care, have disappeared as her injuries healed. Jaina pretends not to miss those times. 

 

A delicious smell of scrambled eggs and baking sausages wafts into the living room from the kitchen. It helps a lot with her dreary mood and she knows that the food itself will do away with a part of it too. Tandred walks into the living room, clad in only a blue bathrobe that leaves his hairy arms and legs on full display. Through Jaina’s unexpected bout of laughter, he announces that breakfast is ready.

 

They eat quickly and plentifully. Fruit jams and fresh bread are passed around the table while glasses are filled with tea and orange juice. Sylvanas devours her breakfast with a fervour that tells Jaina that she is once again straining her body by staying disguised for days, despite her increased powers and recovery. Tandred makes a joke about her appetite, to which Jaina replies that Sylvanas exercises a lot. Katherine takes the opportunity to ask Sylvanas to get Jaina to exercise as well. With hesitation, the fallen angel nods quietly. 

 

Jaina is glad when they can head to the attic, traversing the narrow staircase and attaching a wooden ladder to the designated hooks on the ceiling, beside the trapdoor that leads to the attic. She then opens it, sending a cloud of dust into the space below the slanted roof. After clambering up the ladder, she squats besides the trapdoor and waits for Sylvanas to join her. 

 

The attic is fairly large but also crammed full of old furniture, crates filled with ship equipment and a broken plastic boat that takes up half of the space. Jaina knows what she is looking for, however. The last time she had been here, literal days after her father had died, when her mother had not returned from her lengthy visit to the hospital yet, she and Tandred had stashed half a dozen boxes full of personal items in the attic. Things she couldn’t or did not want to take with her to Dalaran. 

 

‘I don’t know in which box it is,’ she admits to Sylvanas, who crouches down next to her. ‘Do you feel anything? Or should we just start from the top down?’ 

 

There is unease on Sylvanas’ face, though she tries to repress it. ‘I do feel the presence of arcane in the air. It’s very faint, though.’ 

 

‘Right, I’ll just start with this one, then.’ Jaina puts the uppermost box onto the floor and opens it. It contains stacks upon stacks of clothing. ‘Ooh, pleasant surprise!’ she exclaims. ‘I forgot I had this. Isn’t this one nice?’ 

 

While holding a white jacket with blue patches on the shoulders in front of her body, Jaina smiles sweetly and forgets who is accompanying her for a moment. 

 

‘It is not what we are here for,’ Sylvanas sharply says. 

 

‘No, but I’ll look through this box when we’ve got it.’ Jaina feels the urge to pout while putting the jacket back. She also spies a very nice pair of black boots with golden laces and black jeans that she wants to take home too. ‘Ah, and more boxer shorts. Not his, don’t worry. We’re looking for something else entirely. I was wondering why I only had three pairs at home. Well, I packed in a hurry, when moving to Dalaran. Due to… you know, the circumstances.’

 

The next box contains plates, mugs and, for some reason, stacks of sailing magazines. Sylvanas shakes her head before Jaina can even start looking through it. ‘It is in another box,’ she says.  

 

‘Well, not this one,’ Jaina mumbles when she uncovers the contents of another crate. ‘These are the pictures that mom wants to hang up in the hallway again. I think she removed them when she decided to hate me.’ 

 

Briefly filtering through them, Jaina smiles at the sight of a tiny her on a boat, some photos of holidays with the family, one of a teenage version of her holding toddler Tandred. Then she finds something she did not quite expect. ‘Oof, this one is hideous.’  

 

‘Who is that?’ Sylvanas asks. 

 

‘This, Syl -’ Jaina holds the picture a foot away from her face and regards it with true disgust. ‘This is me. Let’s hide it before mother finds it’ 

 

‘Hide what?’ Katherine says, poking her head up through the trapdoor. 

 

Yelping, Jaina mentally curses her mother’s apparent precognition abilities. 

 

To her horror, Katherine holds out her hand for the picture. ‘Oh no, that one is cute. I’m putting it on the mantelpiece.’

 

‘Mother, please.’ 

 

‘Don’t you see how cute Jaina looks here?’ Katherine shows Sylvanas the photo and the fallen angel seemed unsure of how to react, before slowly nodding. 

 

Cringing, Jaina looks at the picture too. Yes, it’s undoubtedly her. Her, in a white crop top and awful bell bottom pants, while wearing a purple jacket around her shoulders as if it was a cape. She has no idea why she had once called that fashionable. Katherine disappears again, taking the crate with pictures with her. 

 

The fourth crate contains all kinds of little things. A small case with jewelry, an old pair of sneakers, some forms, essays and diplomas from various schools, a wooden box with drawing materials. Many memories and twice as many feelings bubble up in Jaina’s head. She smiles when coming across her small collection of pride pins, a handbag in the colours of the bi-flag and a bunch of rainbows stickers from her high school days. Sylvanas tilts her head, curious. She crouches besides the crate, in a way that makes Jaina think of a stalking predatory animal. 

 

Then she sees it. A little black box without writing on the case or the lid, peeking out from underneath a folded flag with, once again, the bisexual colours. With a swallow and a deep, shaky breath, Jaina picks it up. ‘Well, this is it,’ she softly says. ‘What we came all this way for.’ 

 

She looks at Sylvanas’ face. The fallen angel’s expression betrays little, but Jaina can see the beads of sweat pearling in her hairline. With another deep breath, she carefully takes off the lid. The effect is immediate. Sylvanas violently recoils, bumping into the other crates and rattling the broken boat when she presses her back against it. Her eyes shift to red, her teeth lengthen into fangs and black claws sprout from her fingertips, digging gouges in the wooden floor. Harshly breathing, she gets back to her feet as quickly as she can, shifting back into her human disguise and trying to ban the fear from her features. 

 

‘I’m sorry,’ Jaina says. ‘I had a suspicion that you knew what this is… I’m sorry, I should have warned you.’ 

 

‘It is fine. I was merely stricken by… memories.’ 

 

Jaina knows which memories. The ones of falling, wings burning and nearly being disemboweled by the full-size version of the sword in the box. It is a frightening thing, and she had always thought that. The skull on the hilt alone is terrifying, the jagged blade and the strange runes carved into the metal don’t make it any less frightening. ‘He had this custom-made for him by an old silversmith. Gave it to me when I still meant something to him,’ she says to Sylvanas. 

 

She thinks that Arthas had meant it as a nice thing to put onto her cabinet, or something. Just a nice little replica of the sword he slaughtered hundreds, if not thousands of beings with. ‘Is this… can you work with this?’ 

 

‘I can.’ There is still fear in the fallen angel’s words as she stares down at the small sword. It’s not much larger than her hand. 

 

Then Jaina notices the slip of paper tucked away inside the box. She fumbles it out from between the tip of the blade and the plush, black, velvety fabric that lines the box. On it is a single word, scribbled in Arthas’ large handwriting.  _ He had terrible handwriting,  _ Jaina thinks.  _ All the letters are so scrunched together.  _ She can hardly read what it says. ‘Frost… norn?’ 

 

‘Frostmourne,’ Sylvanas corrects her with a full-body shiver. 

 

A chill goes down Jaina’s spine too. Perhaps she is imagining it, but the miniature sword seems to emit cold. Hastily closing the box and noting how Sylvanas’ quick breathing eases, she places it on top of the clothing in the other crate. Having found what they had been after for some time, she takes a relieved breath herself. As she closes the box a glint of metal catches her eye. She calls out for Sylvanas to wait, as the fallen angel is already halfway down the ladder. Brushing away a layer of dust and carefully placing her rainbow flag pin aside, she uncovers something she forgot she owned. 

 

Her father’s pendant. A silver anchor on a chain. It feels cold on her skin when she hangs it around her neck. Another long-lost memory that threatens to bring tears to her eyes and a sad smile to her face. 

 

After handing Sylvanas, who seems eager to get out of the attic, the box with clothing and Arthas’ miniature sword and clambering down the ladder, Jaina sighs deeply. She wishes that the fallen angel would slow down a tad, just so she could savor the memories a bit longer. But she understands Sylvanas’ hurry too. She has never seen the being quite as outright scared as in that moment and the sights of the blackened scars on Sylvanas’ body are still branded into her mind. 

 

So she quietly walks to the kitchen and says to her mother that they will not stay for dinner. Katherine flashes a sad smile of her own. ‘I thought so. You are a busy woman, after all. Is there anything you need for the way back? Or for in Dalaran?’ 

 

‘Money, always money,’ Jaina says jokingly. ‘But I wouldn’t mind some sandwiches and a thermos flask filled with coffee.’ 

 

‘How much money do you need, dear?’ 

 

‘Mum, I was kidding-’ 

 

‘Tandred already said that you had slight financial troubles. How much do I need to send you? The wharf is making profits.’ 

 

Jaina runs a hand through her hair and chuckles. She still needs to get used to being part of the family again. ‘I’ll do some calculations and send a message when I’m home.’ 

 

‘Don’t wait until you have a shortage again,’ Katherine says while reaching into the kitchen cabinet for a lunchbox. ‘And grab some extra out of the little pot in the living room cupboard.’

 

Jaina knows that she cannot dissuade her mother, so she walks over to the cupboard and opens it. She has to reach up to the highest plank to get the small ceramic pot with several billets and coins in it. After carefully counting out just enough to buy dinner for one person, since she is adamant on not using her family to get easy money, she places it back. 

 

‘You’re leaving, huh?’ Derek steps into the room from the front porch, closing the glass door and shucking off his slippers. ‘So soon. Have you grown tired of us already?’ 

 

‘I’d like to stay, honestly,’ Jaina admits. ‘I’d love to go sailing again… but I have things to do, back in… Dalaran.’ 

 

_ Like witnessing a fallen angel kill my demon ex,  _ she thinks and cringes a bit. ‘I will come back soon though!’ 

 

‘You’re busy, we know.’ Derek smirks. ‘You’ve got work, your house, not to mention a girlfriend.’ 

 

Ah, there it is. The word that Jaina had been dreading to hear for about a day. In hindsight it’s a thing she will be glad about, not having to keep up her lie anymore. 

 

Sylvanas is waiting in the hall. She is wearing her black leather jacket and the dark red shirt, making Jaina take in a sharp breath. After getting her ribs crushed by Tandred and her hand squeezed far too hard by her mother, her younger brother drives them to the train station with his van. They drive by Taelia’s house and for a fleeting moment, Jaina thinks about paying a short visit to her friend. Then she sighs and lets it zip by along the road. She has bigger things on her mind now. One very big thing to be exact. Their upcoming confrontation. After Tandred has repeated the bear hug when they arrive at the station, he sees them off. Sylvanas inches away slowly, trying to avoid being embraced at all costs. When she and Jaina stand in the hall, looking for the right platform to board their train, Sylvanas clears her throat rather loudly. 

 

‘Jaina,’ she says in a very official tone, taking a deep breath and finding Jaina’s blue eyes with her silver ones. ‘I must depart now.’ 

 

‘Depart? To Dalaran, yes. I know that, I was just looking from where the train goes.’ 

 

Sylvanas draws herself up to her full height, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. ‘Jaina,’ she starts again. ‘I have to leave, to Stratholme. If you could give me the Frostmourne statuette-’ 

  
Jaina covers the box, which she put in the large pocket of her coat, with a hand. After some hesitation, she pulls it out.  ‘You’re going to Stratholme? Now? Alone? Why?’ 

 

‘To face Arthas, as was the plan.’ The fallen angel snatches the box out of her hand and turns around to leave. Her shoulders are tensed and she holds still after a few paces. ‘I know where to find you, Jaina. I swear on my blood that I will return, to give you the riches I promised you. Thank you for bringing me this far… I assure you, he will face his judgement,’ she says in a strained voice. 

 

Completely baffled, Jaina watches her walk away, up the stairs to one of the platforms. She stumbles forward, after the fallen angel, managing to catch up with her before she reaches the platform. ‘Sylvanas, wait!’ she calls out, uncaring if people heard it or not. 

 

‘I have to tell you something…’ 

 

Sylvanas holds still, lips pressed into a tight line, brow furrowed. 

 

After taking a few quick breaths to refill her lungs, since her stamina isn’t the best, Jaina pulls herself together. ‘If not for you… you and your quest for revenge, I would never have known who Arthas really was. I would never have discovered all the atrocities he committed, never have reconciled with my family… despite the lies I told them.’

 

The fallen angel’s expression is unreadable, as she tilts her head slightly and twitches her lips as if she wants to say something. But Jaina is faster. ‘And I would never have found out what had  _ really  _ happened, the night my father died. I want to come with you. We went here, to Boralus, together. Now we will go to his realm, together. I want to see it when he gets what’s coming for him.’ 

 

‘Jaina, are you serious? And are you certain that you want to witness his death?’ Sylvanas asks, clenching her hand tighter around the box containing the sword, so her knuckles turn white. ‘It will be dangerous to enter his realm.’ 

 

‘Yes, of course! Wasn’t that the plan from the beginning?’ In Jaina’s perception it has been, but apparently Sylvanas changed her mind about it at some point during their shared adventure. ‘I want to see you smash his face in,’ she says, only marginally aware of the fury that suddenly rises in her voice. She does not miss the small smile quirking the right corner of Sylvanas’ mouth. Even in her human disguise, her teeth looks sharper than they should be. 

 

‘Listen, he did all kinds of shit to the both of us, right?’ Jaina asks. Sylvanas’ little smirk increases to something more, nearly akin to a grin. But it’s her eyes that do most of the emotional work. They glitter with equal parts desire for revenge and a certain positive emotion that Jaina cannot fully place. She calls it a mix between curiosity and excitement. It is by far the most  _ happy  _ she has ever seen the fallen angel. 

 

She cannot resist the smile that slips onto her own face. ‘Let’s finish this together then!’ 

 

With a gleeful look, Sylvanas nods. 

~~~~~

 

‘I never told you how he went mad, did I?’ 

 

‘No, you only told me about his… invasions. And about what he did to you.’ 

 

Sylvanas already regrets her words. She had blurted them out for no reason and it is embarrassing. They are sitting on the couch, eating something Jaina called “cookie dough ice cream”, despite it not tasting like cookies at all. The fallen angel sighs, since she is getting a taste for human confections and desserts. And frozen food. All terrible habits to develop. 

 

She supposes that she cannot take back her words. ‘Well, do you wish to know?’ Exactly the same words she used on the evening that she regaled her fate to Jaina, told her how her wings burnt and how she was twisted into the monster she is. Though with a pang in her chest she realizes that Jaina had told her that she was no monster, that one night where the human had been in a weird dazed state thanks to the medicine she took. 

 

‘ _ Mhmm!’  _ With a mouth stuffed full of ice cream, Jaina nods. Then she licks her spoon clean, to which Sylvanas hastily averts her head. 

 

‘He was a prince, as I told you before. Not a Quel’dorei… something closer to what you are,’ she begins, vaguely realizing that it sounds slightly disapproving. She did not mean to sound like that and hopes that Jaina isn’t offended. ‘He was not content with ruling, though, despite the fact that his lands were already quite vast. They bordered on those of my people. No… Arthas wanted to conquer, to possess more than his birthright allowed him to. Yet his army stood no chance against the one I was in command of, as Ranger-General of my people.’

 

‘Beautiful term,’ Jaina says. ‘Sorry to interrupt, please go on. I just like the word… Ranger-General, sounds very nice.’ 

 

Sylvanas feels heat in her cheeks, but chooses to ignore it. ‘When an ancient evil rose, he went to confront it… but it latched onto his desires instead. Instead of defeating it, he heeded the call. The sword marked the turning point.’ She glances at the box containing its replica, placed on the table besides their empty dinner plates. 

 

‘As soon as he had claimed the sword, the call of the Lich King, as the threat that seduced him was called, overtook him fully, feeding on his wish to conquer and own more than he had rights to.’ Shivering slightly, Sylvanas remembers the endless hordes of undead that he brought to her country, as she watched from Silvermoon’s walls, feeling her wings flutter nervously on her back. ‘Firstly, he came to Quel’Thalas, wanting our plentiful magic reservoirs, our natural resources and our artifacts. But I beat him back before he could breach the city walls, as you know.’ 

 

Jaina nods, a grave expression on her face. ‘And then he dragged you down.’ 

 

‘Indeed he did,’ Sylvanas says with another shudder. It annoys her that she cannot stop her body from reacting whenever she speaks about him. ‘Eventually he became one with the Lich King, absorbed the evil into his body and… set his sights on not just all of his own realm, but the others too. But not before coming back to finish what I had prevented.’ 

 

She rolls up the sleeves of her burgundy hoodie and traces the scars on her wrists, where frosty shackles bit into her flesh time and time again. Jaina’s gaze is drawn to them too, as Sylvanas can see from the corner of her eyes. ‘He broke me,’ she mumbles, feeling her tail actively try to curl between her legs, though the only thing she achieves is to uncomfortably scrunch it up into the backrest of the couch. She reaches behind her, freeing it and rubbing over the kink at the end. 

 

‘He… broke that too?’ Jaina asks, eyes flitting to the tail, which sadly curls around Sylvanas’ wrist. 

 

‘First he twisted my body into what I am now… the horns, the tail, the claws… the scars, of course.’ Sylvanas hates it all. She hates her appearance and he ruthlessly tortured her, tearing her flesh and soul apart until she gave her mind up too. ‘I slaughtered my people under his command. He controlled me, I was in a state of unconsciousness while he used my body as his puppet. To kill countless Quel’dorei. Women, men, children… until their blood soaked the streets of Silvermoon. All while they saw… me. Sylvanas Windrunner, their protector, transformed into a hellish creature that they scarcely recognized. I saw them, in flashes of awareness while I slaughtered my way through the city, I saw their faces, I heard their screams, I felt their bodies rip apart under my hands-’ 

 

‘Please, you don’t have to tell me everything if it hurts you so much.’ Jaina’s hand on her shoulder stops her rambling. Sylvanas jerks away, only noticing then that she is digging her nails into the palms of her hands, nearly drawing blood. Jaina is looking a bit green in the face, she sees. While she feels tears in her eyes, she swallows them down to cover her weakness. 

 

‘If my sisters had been in my path, I would not have recognized their faces while killing them. Or perhaps I would have… perhaps he would have lessened his control for a moment to make me witness it.’ 

 

‘Oh, Sylvanas… I’m sorry for asking,’ Jaina softly whispers. 

 

‘You deserve to know, now that you are going with me.’ Sylvanas means it. It feels odd, nearly threatening to make her sick, but she means it. Jaina, who told her all about her family, her father, her time with Arthas, deserves to know all that he did, before they go to his Citadel to end him. 

 

‘And yes, he broke my tail too. He stepped on it,’ she finishes, tracing the badly healed bone of it and not refusing to give it to Jaina when the human holds out her hand. 

 

It curls around her fingers while she touches, no,  _ pets,  _ the half-arrowhead shaped point with utmost care. Sylvanas feels shivers run up and down her spine at the tenderness but she sits still and lets Jaina have her fun. She has hurt the human enough, in the hotel. 

 

‘Are you enjoying this?’ Jaina asks while stroking the tail until it goes slack in her hand. 

 

‘I cannot control it completely… the movements,’ Sylvanas admits. In fact, she would like to be able to stop the way it perks up when Jaina softly rubs over the damaged place where the Lich King once stomped on. The giggle that comes out of Jaina’s mouth is enough to send a strange flutter through Sylvanas’ chest. 

 

‘I think it likes me,’ Jaina teases, grinning at the way it trembles and snakes around her wrist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can Jaina feel magic?? WHO KNOWS?? 
> 
> HIATUS ANNOUNCEMENT: I'm going on holiday from the 9th to the 29th of July. I'll be sitting above the polar circle in Norway with very little wifi and/or mobile connection at all. So I won't be able to update for at least 3 weeks. I'll try to sneak in an update if I have the wifi to do that but I'm simply not sure. Hopefully this little bit of cuteness will tie you over until I return with your regularly scheduled angst. 
> 
> P.s. Corgi, here are your tail shenanigans, part 1 of many.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting this from a gas station with free wifi in Norway XD 
> 
> Just two women, relaxing before going to a potentially fatal battle, being cute… nothing more…

“We will leave tomorrow”, Sylvanas had said, in that definitive way of hers that Jaina knew so well. To avoid arriving ridiculously early, Jaina suggested that they absolutely would not leave before eight in the morning. To her surprise, Sylvanas had agreed, giving one of those characteristic curt nods despite her tail's attempt to crawl into Jaina's sleeve. The human merely toyed with it in response. Sylvanas had, however, insisted to sleep on the couch, curling up like a cat while Jaina left for her own bedroom. It had surprised her how calm the fallen angel had gotten, after their conversation. She seemed settled in her fate. Jaina wished she could feel the same, but the turmoil in her head and chest would not cease.

That is why she wakes up after a meager few hours of sleep, panting and shaking nightmarish images of Arthas out of her head. She had dreamt about what Sylvanas had told her, how he tore her body and soul apart until she submitted. After washing her face with cold water, she quietly stalks to the kitchen for a snack. Her alarm tells her it’s 2:26am, making her sigh deeply. As silently as she can, she opens the door of the living room, to avoid waking Sylvanas. The light of the hallway is harsh and the darkness of the living room is blinding. The linoleum is cold under her bare feet as Jaina steps into the living room and turns to close the door, before hearing a rustle.

A pair of red orbs stares at her from the couch.

Jaina screams, nearly falling on her ass, slipping and sliding over the floor to try to regain her balance until she yells: “ _Fuck_! Sylvanas, don’t - don’t do that! Shit, you scared me.’

The red eyes of the fallen angel reflect the light from the hallway like a cat’s eyes. They blink and move as Sylvanas sits upright and reaches for the lamp on the coffee table, turning it on so its soft orange light fills the room. It illuminates the grey form of Sylvanas, only clad in her favourite purple sports bra, black torn sweatpants that she has refused to discard despite the Kaldorei attack and the toxic green fleece blanket. ‘My apologies, Jaina,’ she says in a sleepy voice.

‘It’s okay. It’s fine,’ Jaina pants. ‘I just didn’t know your eyes did that. Were… were you awake?’

‘I was. I have been for some time, actually.’

‘Guess we both can’t sleep.’ With a faint smile, Jaina chuckles.

Sylvanas tucks some stray strands of hair behind one of her long ears. ‘That is not so surprising, given what we are about to do.’

‘True… Ehm, do you want anything to eat? I always make something warm for myself when I can’t sleep. Noodle soup? Maybe a warm sandwich? I can try to bake an egg too.’

‘I would rather not eat anything burnt at this hour.’

‘Noodles it is then.’ With another chuckle, Jaina heads to the kitchen and sluggishly flicks on the light, holding her hand in front of her eyes until the sting of the sudden brightness ebbs away. While filling up the electric water heater, she hears Sylvanas shuffle around in the living room. ‘Do you want shrimp or chicken?’ she loudly asks.

‘Whichever one you deem fit, Jaina.’

For a brief moment, Jaina had forgotten how little of the human realm Sylvanas knows. She has started acting more and more as if the fallen angel is a normal human… friend. Companion. Perhaps it’s because of the late hour, or perhaps because she is craving some stability before throwing herself, maybe literally, into a confrontation with her demonic ex. She also makes some tea when the water has boiled, distributing the contents of the cooker between two mugs and two bowls. After sufficiently stirring the instant noodles and discarding the tea bags she brings it all into the living room on a tray, placing it on the coffee table and dragging the small table in front of the couch before finally seating herself next to Sylvanas. Then she jumps up again.

‘I’m going to grab slippers from the suitcase. Getting cold feet here.’

They still need to unpack everything from their journey to Boralus, but after some digging, Jaina finds the fluffy, blue, boat-shaped slippers that she brought from her family home. It gets a small chuckle out of Sylvanas when the fallen angel sees them. The corner of her mouth curls up in a barely noticeable smile.

‘This is… comforting, indeed,’ Sylvanas admits while winding some noodles around the cheap pair of wooden chopsticks that Jaina brought along with the food. ‘Not very nourishing, but comforting.’

Slurping a big bite of her noodles, Jaina laughs. ‘Best comfort food for when I wake up at night, trust me.’

When they have eaten and the comfortable warmth of the food sits in Jaina’s stomach, she leans back against the couch pillows and closes her eyes. Despite the late hour, she feels that she could not fall asleep if she wanted to. Sylvanas sighs while putting her bowl down on the coffee table, covering herself with the blanket and drawing her feet up on the couch. She looks uncomfortable and Jaina thinks that the prospect of their confrontation with Arthas might finally be catching up to her. Then the fallen angel suddenly turns to her.

‘Is everything alright now… between us?’ she asks, dipping her head so her horns gleam ebony in the low light.

Jaina knows it’s as much of an apology as she will get out of the being. She supposes that it is nice to know that Sylvanas cares at least a little bit about how things are between them before embarking on the last leg of their quest. ‘It’s fine…’ she says, before taking a deep breath. ‘I - I still feel terrible about lying to my family about everything. But I will tell them the truth after you’ve defeated Arthas. They will understand, I hope.’

‘They will. If necessary, I will come with you to explain.’

Despite the blush rising to Jaina’s cheeks, she mumbles: ‘That’s very sweet of you.’

Both she and Sylvanas quickly take a sip of their tea after she has said that. Feeling somewhat elated, Jaina laughs while putting her cup down. ‘Now we need to do something… something relaxing…’

‘To ease the nerves?’ There is a kind of carefulness, no, nearly something uplifting in Sylvanas’ words that Jaina has not heard before.

Nodding excitedly, but feeling the tiredness linger behind her eyes when she does so, Jaina smiles. “Something relaxing that’s not eating, because we’ve just done that. Not sleeping either, because we can’t,’ she adds, laughing anew.

Sylvanas’ eyes scan the room, resting on the paperweights that lay on the table.

‘No, not that either,’ Jaina says, giggling as the fallen angel’s shoulders slump a bit. ‘Oh! We can watch a nature documentary,’ she suggests. ‘Then I can educate you about… the wildlife of my realm! And the presenter's voice is very soothing.’

At Sylvanas’ miniscule nod, she stands up to look through the small stack of DVD’s next to the television. She found herself glad that Sylvanas wanted to join her in another one of her favourite things to do when she cannot sleep. ‘Let me see… I’ve got sea life, birds, mammals, something about the rivers of Stormsong Valley… which one do you want to watch?’

She had seen every one of them at least a dozen times, so it did not matter much to her. Sylvanas thinks for a long time, drawing her wispy eyebrows together. ‘... Birds,’ she eventually quietly says, in a voice more breath than tone. ‘They… you know, they fly. Something I can look forward to, after today.’

Jaina hides her smile by turning to the tv, inserting the disk and flicking the buttons on the remote with practiced motions. Then she flops down onto the couch and boldly claims a slip of the blanket. While the sweet opening music crackles through the boxes and a magnificent eagle flies over a mountain range on the screen, she hears Sylvanas utter a small sound, hastily stifled in the back of her throat. She wonders whether Sylvanas ever flew like that, but decides not to ask, letting the fallen angel enjoy the documentary instead.

Because she had seen the whole thing so many times, Jaina slowly dreams away, wondering how Sylvanas’ wings had looked. Whether they had been white, mottled, a mix of brown and red tints which would look wonderful in her opinion, or even something else entirely. Perhaps silver, like her eyes? Then, while Sylvanas intently looks at a scene of a hunting falcon, she steals a long look at the fallen angel’s profile. Perhaps she would keep the sharp face, the wispy eyebrows, the long ears. But the horns, the tear marks on her cheeks, the black scars?

Jaina closes her eyes, imagining. Without the horns and grey skin, Sylvanas looks much softer, more friendly. But also braver, stronger, not so troubled anymore.

Then something touches her shoulder, and Jaina jerks. It’s Sylvanas.

Sylvanas who has fallen asleep against her. The documentary is still playing, but Jaina grabs the remote to turn it off. She sits against Sylvanas for a short while, until sleep threatens to catch up to her as well. Despite the admittedly odd pleasantness of the situation, she still prefers her bed to the couch and Sylvanas’ bony shoulder.

In the morning, when she had found the fallen angel washed and dressed at no less than half past six, she is greeted by a small smile and a nod that takes a second longer than usual. She also finds a stack of bread and a large mug full of coffee on the counter for her and feels equal parts glad and irked that the fallen angel knows her way around the house that well. In her black cargo pants, dark red shirt and heavy boots, Sylvanas looks ready to fight, lifting her chin with such confidence that Jaina can’t help but picture her staring down Arthas already. Whether Sylvanas was still in her natural form or wore her human disguise, which she put on while Jaina ate breakfast, she was confident and looks the part.

After showering, Jaina decides that she too should look a bit more ready to fight than she usually does. Luckily, a selection of the clothing she brought with her from Boralus is perfect for that purpose. The first thing she takes out are black jeans, not quite as thick and militaristic as Sylvanas’ cargo pants but they do the job. She also uncovers her black with gold boots from the bottom of the suitcase, and a white blouse with golden buttons that she likes a lot. Additionally, she chooses to wear a sturdy jacket with big patches of dark blue leather on the shoulders. Completing the look with her anchor necklace, she lifts her blonde hair above the collar of her jacket and tucks her black shirt into the jeans.

Sylvanas is waiting for her in the hallway, geared up in her leather jacket and holding the box with the Frostmourne statuette in her hands. Jaina flips her hair over her shoulder, but it swings right back when she bends down to tie the laces on her boots. Thus she turns to the fallen angel. ‘Sylvanas, can you braid my hair? I don’t want it to get in my eyes during… during whatever is going to happen, since you said it might be dangerous.’

Stunned, Sylvanas stands still for a few moments, before shoving the box into her pocket and holding out her hands. ‘Hold still.’

With swift movements and agile fingers she braids Jaina’s golden locks in less than a minute, tying it with the hairband that Jaina hands her and draping it over her shoulder. Satisfied, Jaina nods. Then she opens the front door with a deep sigh and steps into the cold morning air. While closing and locking the door behind her, she feels dread creep up in her mind, but banishes it quickly, telling herself that Sylvanas has the situation under control and that they will be back here in a few days at most.

‘There’s a stop for the bus to Stratholme around the corner here,’ she says while walking down her street. The uniform grey clouds blanket everything in a depressing mist. ‘It takes about an hour to arrive there. And we have enough money now, since mom sent me some literal minutes after I emailed her last night.’

She sits down on the damp bench at the bus stop while Sylvanas chooses to remain standing. The minutes tick by slowly. Jaina starts bouncing her leg after not too long, but only notices it when Sylvanas asks her to stop. Her voice sounds strained and more nervous than in the house. But before Jaina can attempt to make her feel more at ease, the bus rounds the corner and she waves for it to come to a halt. They seat themselves on the hard chairs and begin the last leg of their journey. Jaina sits a bit squashed between the window and Sylvanas, so their thighs touch and she can’t place her hands besides her. Thus she settles them in her lap and is about to ask Sylvanas to move a bit when she sees that the fallen angel has a pair of earbuds in and has her eyes closed soundly. On one hand, Jaina is glad that she seems to trust her so much that she just dreams away, or isolates herself, via the music. On the other, she does take up twice as much space as Jaina herself, with her legs spread and her hands in her pockets.

‘Sylvanas,’ she says when they have nearly arrived.

Since the fallen angel does not reply, Jaina plucks one earbud out of her ear in a bold move. Ignoring the scorching look she receives, she repeats: ‘Sylvanas… we’re here.’

‘I am aware. I felt the change in the air.’ While getting up, Sylvanas pats her pocket, where the case with the model sword bulges from. She takes it out when they have exited the bus, opening the box with great apprehension and snatching the sword from it’s velvet enclosure. The name of the thing, Frostmourne, echoes through Jaina’s head like a malicious memory of terrible deeds she is only barely familiar with.

When Sylvanas lays it flatly on the palm of her left hand, it burns away her disguise, leaving an outline of the grey skin that Jaina has grown accustomed to. The fallen angel moves her hand from side to side, as if trying to pick up a signal. Her nostrils flare when she turns in the direction of a particular street and she sets off without notifying Jaina. As the woman jogs to catch up with her quick strides, she asks Sylvanas where they are going.

‘To a powerful source of magic that reeks of the Lich King. A bridge to his realm, hopefully.’ Without even slowing down ever so slightly, Sylvanas marches on, forcing Jaina to follow her deeper into the city.

Stratholme is a dreary city in the morning. Mist covers the streets, though it could very well be smog. The buildings look dark and deserted, inhospitable and even slightly creepy. While the street stones are very even, their uniformity is unnerving. Jaina has never been so glad that she did not move to this place with Arthas. She is even more glad when they walk by the factories that were mentioned in the news. They have not been rebuilt since the explosions that she read about years ago.

Taelia’s father was crippled in one of these, she thinks, shivering and slowing down to look at the walls, wrought apart and cracked due to the force. Weeds grow all over the ruined buildings and rust is spreading rapidly. Sylvanas holds still too.

‘Now I am certain that these “accidents” were his doing,’ she mumbles, turning to Jaina. ‘Can you not sense the cold of his magic in the air?’

‘I… I can? I think?’ Jaina stretches out a hand, feeling the air, perplexed by the unnatural chill that seems to wrap around her fingers and seep into her skin. I must be pretending things. Either that or Sylvanas’ influence is doing this to me.

There is not much time to think about the options, since Sylvanas crosses the street and stands still in front of a small cafeteria. ‘It is here,’ she declares, tucking the sword into her pocket and experimentally flexing her hand as her disguise melts back over the palm.

‘That’s a bar, Sylvanas,’ Jaina deadpans.

With a hum of acknowledgement, the fallen angel sweeps open the door and marches inside, ducking under the low door frame and ignoring the bartender who yells that they will open in an hour. ‘She has to use the toilet really badly!’ Jaina calls out as she follows her through the rows of grey tables and low quality chairs.

Luckily that is exactly where Sylvanas goes, though she bypasses the toilets and opens the door to the industrial freezer. A wave of cold hits Jaina in the face as she is bathed in icy mist. ‘Are you sure it’s here?’ she asks. ‘You’re making quite the scene.’

‘They must hide the chill of their portal somehow. I know that Arthas is clever, and he- ’

‘Hey, what the hell are you doing there? Either use the loo and get out or I’ll call the cops!’ the bartender yells from the door to the kitchen. He already has his hand on his pocket and Jaina is about to assure him that her friend was merely curious when Sylvanas jumps forward in a blur.

Before Jaina knows what’s happening, she has pulled the small sword from her coat and planted it into his throat. As he sinks to the ground with a gurgling breath while the blood pours over his white uniform, Jaina lets go of a horrified shriek, stumbling backwards. She stutters her way through Sylvanas’ name before the fallen angel stops her with a firm hand to her shoulder. ‘Do not approach, Jaina,’ she warns.

‘You killed him!’ Jaina hisses, equal parts frightened and angry.

‘Indeed I did, or he would have tried to kill us.’

‘He was going to call the police, not kill us.’

Sylvanas shakes her head. ‘Look,’ she solemnly says, nodding at the corpse.

A wave of energy, not unlike what Jaina always feels when Sylvanas shifts forms, washes over them. At once, the bartender’s body trembles. His skin melts away, revealing a skeletal face, with skin stretched thinly over the bones. It is the same kind of grey as Sylvanas’, though dried and cracked. His hands are nothing but bones and ligaments. One of them falls out of his pocket, so the object he was holding clatters onto the kitchen tiles. It’s not a phone, as Jaina had expected. A dagger, glinting silver, tinkles on the floor. Sylvanas wearily eyes it, giving Jaina a few seconds to calm down and feel anything else than fear. Then she steps into the freezer, tugging Jaina along by her sleeve.

‘An undead,’ she says matter-of-factly. ‘Arthas’ lowest minions. He might know we are here, he might just have them disguised all over the city. Whatever the case, there will soon be more.’

Near briskly, she walks to the back of the freezer, seemingly unbothered by the tremendous cold. There, she shifts forms, adding to the uncomfortable temperature. Once her horns scrape the ceiling and her tail shivers - yes, it is the only part of her that actually shivers - she jams her nails into the wall and rips. It all goes so quickly that Jaina can hardly take a breath before she is suddenly looking into a gaping black hole where there is supposed to be a wall with solid concrete behind it.

Sylvanas was right. This is where they are supposed to be. Dread curls into her chest anew. The question “what if it goes wrong?” rises front and center in her mind, but Sylvanas puts a stop to her thoughts before they can start to congeal and darken. She leads Jaina to the edge of the… bridge, since that is what they are looking at, a bridge between realms. Jaina sees a tiny glimmer of icy blue in the distance below them, but it seems unimaginably far away.

The fallen angel’s hand curls around hers. Jaina notices that yes, her nails are retractable, since they look normal when Sylvanas’ fingers are entwined with hers, as opposed to her black claws that she bore earlier.

‘Jaina,’ Sylvanas says, squeezing her hand slightly. ‘Whatever you do, whether it be cry, cling or scream - no one shall hear you since sound does not travel in the space between worlds -’

Such a comforting thought, Jaina morosely thinks.

‘- do not, under no circumstances, let go.’

Sylvanas swiftly steps forward, making Jaina do a strangle hobble so she does not stumble. Then blackness closes around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Jaina is wearing a modern version of her BfA outfit, they’re all geared up! Let’s gooooo.
> 
> It will be a bit hard for me to respond to comments since I’m on holiday but I’ll try my best! Scandinavia is amazing, by the way! I’m having the time of my life here
> 
> Chapter 15 might come next week, but maybe much later. It all depends on whether I have wifi in the wilderness here :D


	15. Chapter 15

 

Jaina screams. She cannot hear her voice nor feel her breath. The only thing she feels is a constricting cold, wrapping around her chest and squeezing so tightly that she fears her ribs will cave in. Everything goes darker still, so Sylvanas’ glowing eyes are her only light. Jaina wants to press her head against the fallen angel’s chest, but her neck will not move. Tears of fear remain in her eyes, the urge to sob does not get any further than her mind.

 

Then they come to a standstill and everything happens at once. Jaina keels forward, bumping her head into Sylvanas’ collarbone and nearly falling if not for her companion’s grip on her hand. The tears leave her eyes, flowing over her cheeks as she utters a dry sob. Everything feels horrible, sickness makes itself known in her stomach and the cold threatens to paralyse her. As Jaina slowly lifts her head and fights the urge to empty her stomach, she stares into the eyes of a monster. 

 

A scream cannot leave her mouth, since Sylvanas clamps her hand over her lips and smothers the sound. 

 

It’s made out of ice. A frightening head of  _ something _ , something with malicious eyes and horns and far too many teeth. It is a statue, set besides the shimmering curtain which they stand in front of. The bridge, Jaina realizes, though it looks much nicer in this particular realm. She slowly turns around, looking into the rounded room. Bridges _ ,  _ portals, whatever the glowing pools of blueish magic are called, line the walls. There is one of those monstrous statues in between every one of them and it looks as if they are all staring at Jaina. 

 

‘Come,’ Sylvanas says in a tight voice, seemingly as unnerved as she is, ‘The time for sightseeing is over.’ 

 

~~~~~

 

‘Where are we?’ Jaina asks as she follows Sylvanas into one of the broad halls. 

 

‘Icecrown Citadel. Arthas’ palace,’ the fallen angel mumbles. As they walk, she can connect an unpleasant memory to nearly every step they take. 

 

Here, in a smaller hall that branches off from their road, she hung from her wrists for days when she had just been captured. She sees a grate above them, knowing it leads to a vent which she once tried to escape through, before being caught again and beaten so badly that she could not walk for weeks. 

 

‘Where are we going?’ Jaina inquires, shaking her out of the morose memories. 

 

‘To an armoury or a storage room. I must find my armour and my weapons.’ 

 

Her scars, specifically the ones on her back, sting and ache in tune with the pulse of magic that thrums through the entire Citadel. There is truly no place in all the realms that Sylvanas detests more. 

 

‘Where is he? Do we have to search through this entire place? It’s nasty here.’ 

 

‘Be quiet, Jaina.’ 

 

‘I’m sorry, Sylvanas. I just want to know what I’m up against.’ 

 

‘ _ Be quiet,  _ I said,’ the fallen angel hisses. ‘Can you not hear that?’ 

 

Footsteps. Heavy, clambering footsteps that ring through the halls, difficult to pinpoint. Sylvanas feels her ears swivel when she tries to locate their owner. She hears the metallic steps echo many times, but knows that they are to the left side, and thus bound to block their way. Unarmed, she stands no chance against a death knight. Thus, there is only one way where she can lead Jaina to in order to circumvent the threat. The cells. No one visits them but Arthas himself, and the unfortunate souls he imprisons in them. 

 

She beckons the human, leading her down a narrow staircase. Frowning, Jaina follows. Sylvanas says nothing but feels her stomach cramp and fights the bile rising in her throat. Every muscle in her body seems to resist going down to the cells, yet her memories are easier to face than an elite death knight. They are not lethal, to neither herself nor Jaina. And it would be terrible if Jaina got hurt, or worse. White hot anger boils in her mind the moment she thinks about that. 

 

To her own contempt, Sylvanas realizes that she has gotten attached to the woman.  _ She has saved my life, it is only natural,  _ she tells herself. If she were a quel’dorei still, she would undoubtedly have showered her with gifts and titles already. Perhaps there will be time for that later. Stealing a quick look to the side, she spies Jaina looking up at the wide, icy ceiling, with its spikes and pillars. It would be beautiful if not so laden with painful memories. 

 

Memories that make Sylvanas’ breath stop when she scans the cells to their right. 

 

They are still there. The icy chains in which Arthas left her when he broke her, flayed her soul in an eternity of agony and bled her until she was less than an inch from death still sway from the ceiling. 

 

With a grunt she scarcely recognises as her own, she stumbles to the side as her knees grow weak and threaten to buckle. Jaina catches her and covers her eyes with a warm hand. 

 

‘Don’t look,’ she softly says. ‘I’ll guide you past it, just don’t look.’ Whether she guessed what they are or merely helps Sylvanas because she sees her pain, Jaina presses a hand into the fallen angel’s back and gently pushes her forward. 

 

Excruciatingly slowly, one small step after the next, Sylvanas walks. She feels Jaina’s leg against hers, moving in sync, keeping her away from the edge, away from falling into her torturous memory. After what feels like an eternity, Jaina uncovers the fallen angel’s eyes, showing her that they are well past the chains. Another moment where Sylvanas must thank her for, when it is all over. She might as well take Jaina to Quel’thalas now. Perhaps for a family reunion of her own. 

 

‘Sylvanas?’ 

 

With a soft hum - much softer and friendlier than she wants - Sylvanas turns to Jaina. But the human did not speak. 

 

‘ _ S-sylvanas?  _ Is that truly you, or are my delirious eyes deceiving me?’ In the blackness of the cell next to them, a figure stirs. A pair of eyes, glowing red in the dark, stares at them. 

 

‘ _ Velonara! _ ’ Sylvanas can barely restrain herself from yelling as her heart leaps in her chest. She runs to the bars and falls to her knees in front of her former ranger captain. 

 

Velonara sits on the other side of the cruel, freezing bars. She holds one hand against her side and her eyes are filled with pain, yet a glimmer of hope shows in her small smile. ‘It’s you,’ she whispers. ‘It’s actually you. I thought he had hunted you down.’ 

 

‘You are injured,’ Sylvanas says, noticing the rusty blotch on Velonara’s side. 

 

The ranger sighs. ‘All of us are. We… we defended you in front of the Lich King, months after you had escaped.’ 

 

‘All of  _ us _ ?’ 

 

‘Yes.’ Velonara turns to the rest of the dark cell. 

 

In the squalor, Sylvanas can make out four other beings. All former quel’dorei, with grey skin and red eyes, horns curling from their hair. 

 

‘What have I done to you?’ Sylvanas whispers, grabbing the bars despite the sting of the cold in her flesh. 

 

‘It does not matter, you are here now. And in such a good state.’ Velonara sighs and vaguely gestures at herself, her skeletal frame so different from Sylvanas’ healthy form. ‘And our situation could be worse. I assume you are here to end him once and for all?’ 

 

Nodding gravely, the former Ranger-General says: ‘I am.’ 

 

A small burst of cheers erupts from the cell. She recognises Clea’s rougher voice and Alvara’s high one amongst them. 

 

‘Where are the rest of… the rangers?’ she asks Velonara. 

 

‘We don’t know. He took them somewhere else after nearly beating Kalira to death. I think they might be in a different set of cells.’ 

 

This time, Sylvanas cannot stop her voice from rising in volume as she furiously hisses: ‘He beat - What did he do to her?!’ 

 

‘I figured you would be mad about that… she’s alive, don’t worry.’ Velonara moves away from the bars, into the cell. It is so dark that Sylvanas has to squint to make out details, but she sees how Velonara picks up a figure and slowly drags it to the bars. ‘Look, Sylvanas is with us again. And she will free us very soon,’ she whispers, tilting the head of the ranger in her arms slightly upwards. 

 

In her arms lies Kalira, the smallest and youngest of the rangers who had been captured in either one of the battles that Arthas fought in Quel’thalas. Blood stains her clothing in two dozen places. It infuriates Sylvanas beyond measure to see her lying limply in Velonara’s hold, barely giving any signs of life. She remembers the fiery young quel’dorei, which she had trained personally, with her bow in hand and a brave smile on her face. How beautiful had she looked in her blue leathers. 

 

When Sylvanas reaches between the bars to take her clammy hand in her own, she opens her eyes with a broken noise of pain. Her breath is a stutter from between her split lips. Yet her mouth quivers into a smile when she lays eyes on her former leader. ‘ _ S-syl _ …’ she whispers, then tries to get up but is swiftly stopped by Velonara, who lays an arm around her waist. 

 

Sylvanas has to fight her tears when she says: ‘I swear, Kalira, I swear on my blood that I shall tear him apart for what he did to you… What he did to all of you.’ 

 

‘Then be on your way, Ranger-General.’ Velonara’s eyes find hers, before flitting to Jaina, who has stood speechlessly behind them all the time. ‘Wait. Who is that?’ 

 

As Sylvanas beckons her, Jaina steps forward until she kneels down beside her. 

 

‘This - this is Jaina Proudmoore. Without her I would not have lived to stand here this day.’ While talking, Sylvanas feels her spirit rise. Finally, she can speak like a true quel’dorei again. ‘I shall tell you our entire story once I have vanquished him.’ 

 

‘Then I look forward to hearing it. He should be in the central chamber, but he has stationed his death knights all throughout the Citadel,’ Velonara forewarns. ‘ _ Belono sil'aru, belore'dorei. _ ’ 

 

In her arms, Kalira repeats the saying, in a voice so quiet and weak that it stings in Sylvanas’ chest. While getting up, she slowly shakes her head. ‘No…’ she whispers, ‘ _ Sin’dorei _ .’ 

 

‘Sylvanas, you’re not-’

 

‘ _ Shorel’aran,  _ Velonara. I will see you soon again.’ The fallen angel turns on her heels and walks away before her emotions get the better of her, with Jaina quickly trotting after her. 

 

‘What did all of that mean?’ she asks. ‘Are those the “others” that you mentioned a while ago?’ 

 

‘Indeed they are. The other rangers that were captured along with me…  _ belono sil’aru, belore’dorei _ means “shoulder your burdens well, child of the Sun”. And  _ sin’dorei _ means “child of the blood”. It is more appropriate for me… for what I have become.’ 

 

‘Oh, Sylvanas…’ Jaina gasps. ‘You shouldn’t think of yourself like that. You’ll fix it all very soon, after all.’ 

 

The small smile she gives Sylvanas is nearly enough to do away with all the dreadful feelings that had accumulated. 

 

‘But… what did that other thing mean? The - the  _ sho’el… _ something.’ 

 

Sylvanas’ eyebrows rise and she sighs while exiting the hallway with the cells. ‘ _ Shorel’aran _ . It means farewell.’ 

 

Jaina only answers with a muted hum, low and depressing. They walk further in silence. The short meeting with the rangers seems to have impressed and saddened Jaina. Sylvanas cannot truly say the same, since she had more or less expected to run into them. No, what impressed her was that they had stood up for her when she had escaped. And the terrible fate that had befallen them as a result. The icy cells chipped away at body and soul, her rangers had known that. Yet still they had defended her. Between their defiance of the Lich King and Jaina’s good cares, Sylvanas feels strengthened and ready for battle. 

 

After avoiding two more death knights, she gets to an armoury and sneaks inside. Jaina gasps in awe when she sees the tall sets of plate armour and the racks on racks of weapons. But they aren’t what Sylvanas is after. 

 

‘Is all of this for his undead?’ Jaina asks. ‘Where are they, anyways? The only things we’ve seen in the castle are the other fallen angels and those death knights.’ 

 

Sylvanas reaches for one of the racks with pikes, pushing it aside to reveal more armour stands and more weapons. ‘He keeps them outside in the frost. They are unpleasant to look upon and to… smell.’ 

 

Slowly the fallen angel grows frustrated. No matter how many sets of armour litter the room, she cannot find hers. Though she loathes the armour, since he had it made it for her, it is by far the best she had worn, par for her Ranger-General armour. The wine red colour of the leather was even a bit soothing to her eyes. She cannot spot her bow either and huffs in annoyance. 

 

With a concerned tone of voice, Jaina asks if she is alright. The human looks somewhat forlorn in between the numerous sets of armour, mainly because her clothing style is so vastly different. She also toys with the end of her braid, which irritates Sylvanas, though she wishes to feel Jaina’s fine blond hair between her fingers again. 

 

Finally she finds something to her liking. One of the armours for her fellow fallen quel’dorei. It seems to be made exclusively to mock the Quel’thalas style, with its swirled decorations and the hood. She pulls a padded tunic out of the storage racks, since the chestplate contains as much metal as leather. Once she has dressed in the black leather with some dark red and green accents, she emerges from behind the racks, grabs the short sword in Quel’thalas style that came with it and finds a frightened Jaina eyeing the doorway. 

 

‘One of those knights is approaching,’ she hisses. 

 

Indeed, the clunky footsteps of a death knight sound in the hallway. Though now, Sylvanas does not avoid it. With her weapon in hand she walks into the icy corridor, brandishing her blade. For a few moments the knight does not stop their walk. Perhaps they think that she is no more than a puppet of the Lich King, like them. But Sylvanas is far more. She feels her blood rush faster through her veins as she sprints up to the undead, slipping under the wide arc of their longsword and burying her blade into the eyeslit of the helmet. As the death knight collapses, she hears Jaina’s light steps behind her. 

 

‘We must make haste now,’ Sylvanas says. ‘Velonara said he would be in the central chamber, so if you would -  _ ehm,  _ follow me?’ 

 

Her tone is, again, much softer and friendlier than she intended. As she rapidly stalks through the halls, she blames it on her slight nerves and the fact that she has so much to thank to the woman. 

 

Jaina’s soft, startled gasp comes a split second after she sees the blade. Buried in a chunk of ice, Frostmourne glares at them from the middle of Arthas’ throne room. Sylvanas feels her wing scars pull tauter and ache with phantom pain. Gazing upon the cruel weapon makes her breath catch in her throat and a shiver works its way down her spine despite her attempt to stay still. In a voice wracked with a shudder, she says: ‘Standing this close to the blade that caused my fall… The pain… It is renewed.’ 

 

As if the malicious power within Frostmourne senses her pain, a sting courses through the deep scar on her stomach. With a groan, Sylvanas nearly doubles over, pressing her hand against the supple leather of her armour that covers it. The sensation of the cold blade tearing her open and spilling blood onto Quel’thalas’ yellow flowers lingers in her mind. Jaina is by her side in less than a second, putting a careful hand onto her shoulder. Her blue eyes are filled with concern. 

 

‘Sylvanas! Are you alright?’ 

 

‘I am fine. This place… it pains me to be here. I feel all my wounds as if they were fresh,’ the fallen angel says. She swallows hard. ‘Jaina, stay behind me. Whatever will happen… let me fight. Stay behind me, there you will be safe.’ 

 

Huffing, the woman crosses her arms. ‘If he has something to say to me, I  _ will  _ answer!’ 

 

‘Do not endanger yourself-‘

 

‘I want him to know. Everything. That I know the truth about him, that I know he killed my father. Of course… of course I will let you battle him. I mean, that’s what you’re here for.’

 

The glitter of confidence in Jaina’s eyes stirs something in Sylvanas’ chest. With an approving hum, the fallen angel nods. ‘Yes. It is why I have come all this way. I can hardly wait to give him the end he deserves.’

 

‘And I can’t wait to see the results of all my efforts.’ To Sylvanas’ surprise, and most likely Jaina’s too, the human laughs. ‘I haven’t fed you and patched you up all those times for nothing. And now -’

 

‘Jaina, do not speak about that! Not here!’ Sylvanas warns. 

 

Bewildered and a tad frightened, Jaina shoots a look around the chamber. ‘Why?’ 

 

‘The blade. He sees all that the sword sees.’

 

As Jaina opens her mouth to speak, the ceiling rumbles and the icy walls shake. Chips of the glaciated ceiling fall down. 

 

Frostmourne trembles. The eyes of its cruel skull light up blue. 

 

Sylvanas feels the scars on her back tense, as if her wings flutter and want to launch her into the air. Her voice is raspy with anger when she manages to form a sentence. 

 

‘He is here.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it starts...
> 
> I have very little to say about this chapter except that I’m tying up some loose ends considering the other quel’dorei and Sylvanas’ armour. 
> 
> The next chapter is *the big one*. It will take a while before I can post it because I am going to make SOUNDTRACK for it! Battle music to suit the confrontation I’ve been building up to for so long. It’s already over 6 minutes long.   
> On top of that I’ve commissioned art for the chapter, that I want to embed into it all the way at the end :) 
> 
> Honestly... I can’t wait to have chapter 16 published :3


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the battle begins... and ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made SOUNDTRACK for this chapter and I'm personally very proud of it!  
> https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/home-ashen-wings-chapter-16
> 
> Art by Athena:   
> https://athena-the-destroyer.tumblr.com/  
> https://sossafirestar.wixsite.com/athenas-art

As soon as Sylvanas had said those words, the sword flares a more violent blue. Flames lick the jagged edges, in a way that reminds her so much of the little blue wisps that burn away Sylvanas’ human disguise when she sheds it. Jaina stumbles backwards, unable to hold her footing as the chamber shakes so much she fears the ceiling will come down. Then all of a sudden it stops and she notices how she is panting. Feeling cold fear worm its way into her chest, she glances to the side. While she had expected Sylvanas to be wobbling on her feet as she is, the fallen angel stands well balanced. Her armour cuts a striking silhouette, and Jaina is a tad more assured when she sees her strong form so close to her. 

Sylvanas narrows her eyes and watches as the freezing air begins to swirl around Frostmourne. The runes on the blade flare to life with a pulse of energy. Jaina sees how her long ears twitch as she bares both pairs of fangs in a snarl that makes her appear like a wild animal. Again, the human is reminded of how Sylvanas pinned her to the couch when she had transformed for the first time. The bone-rending display is still burned into her memory and she cannot suppress a shiver. 

Behind the weapon, a figure materializes, grabbing the sword and pulling it out of its icy pedestal. Perhaps Jaina is imagining it, but the chill in the room increases and she can nearly feel her blood freeze in her veins. A shocked breath catches in her throat. 

Cruel skulls grin at her from his knees and belt. A ragged grey fur matted with ice adorns his greaves. His chestplate and pauldrons gleam with fine frost in a mockery of a valiant knight’s armour. Despite the absence of wind, his dark cape flutters behind him as he takes one heavy step in Jaina’s direction. 

This is what she saw on the road, the night her father died. Silhouetted against raging storm and lightning, somehow more intimidating than now. It might be because when she trails her gaze upwards, scanning the spiky armour, the glowing icicles hanging from it and the runes on Frostmourne, she sees a face so familiar that it seems like yesterday that she last saw him leave, furiously, for Stratholme, two days before officially breaking up with him. Yet Arthas’ hair is no longer the rich golden colour she is used to, only slightly lighter than her own. It looks frayed, starkly white and matted in many places. His skin is sickly pale, with dark bags under his eyes and glowing blue eyes. Under his arm, he carries a spiked helmet. He wears a deranged grin that Jaina saw only a handful of times, mostly towards the end of their relationship. 

In a voice she knows well, though twisted and distorted, no longer the calming, smooth tone that once spoke to her, he says: ‘Jaina… It has been too long.’ 

‘A - Arthas, I-’ Jaina stammers, frantically reminding herself that this is not the prince she thought she was so fortunate to meet. 

‘Do tell, what brings you here?’ 

He ignores Sylvanas completely, despite the fact that she is literally trembling in rage beside Jaina. 

‘She?’ he asks, as if he can barely believe it, yet Jaina hears the sarcasm dripping from his voice. ‘How has my little runaway angel seduced you, dear Jaina?’ 

‘I’m not yours. Not anymore,’ Jaina says. It comes out more confidently than she had hoped.

Yet still, Arthas pays no mind to the fury of both women. ‘Think, Jaina. You could have stood here next to me, with unlimited power at your fingertips.’ He jabs Frostmourne accusingly at Sylvanas, but does not strike. ‘You could have been immortal!’ 

 _He’s not attacking. Does he think he can still convince me?_ Jaina thinks. Before her thoughts can start comparing her companionship with Sylvanas to the horrible times she and Arthas shared, the fallen angel snarls. 

‘ _Lies_ ,’ she growls. ‘You are not immortal, neither do you have unlimited power. Do not listen to him, Jaina!’ 

‘Silence!’ the Lich King bellows. 

In response, Sylvanas draws her blade. She hisses, red eyes glowing, flaring to life to match the blue on Frostmourne. Her hand is clenched white around the hilt of her own sword. ‘Face me, you coward.’ Her voice is rough and breathless, as she fully unsheathes blade and points it at the Lich King. ‘Face me and pay for what you wrought upon my people! My destiny shall be fulfilled on this day.’ 

Arthas’ armoured form heaves with a deep sigh. He grasps his helmet from where he carried it under his arm and settles it on his head, completing the frightening silhouette. ‘Silence, I said, _Sylvanas.’_

At the mention of the fallen angel’s name, a thrum goes through the room, making Jaina stumble on her feet. Arthas’ eyes bleed blue light within his helmet and Sylvanas gasps as her sword clatters onto the ground. She grasps for her own throat, uselessly struggling against the broad band of glowing ice that cuts off her voice. A snarl does not get much further than a wheezing sound. 

‘Let her go!’ Jaina shrieks in horror. 

‘You could have had it all, Jaina. If only you followed me to Stratholme, we both would have been granted this power. We could have ruled together! But you were stubborn. Time and time again, I offered you, but you refused.’ 

Jaina remembers when Arthas came back from a trip, indeed offering her to move away from Dalaran. Those journeys had not been business trips, as he had claimed. No, he had undoubtedly built his kingdom and committed horrible deeds during them. The mere thought makes her shiver, as she is reminded of the things Sylvanas told her. 

‘Even when I killed your father, you _refused_ and chose to be left behind in the poverty of your puny realm!’ 

‘So you admit it!’ Jaina shrilly exclaims. ‘Why?’ 

‘You would have had no choice but to join me, Jaina. After him, I would've gotten rid of your mother and you'd have no reason to not come with me. But you weren't meant to be in the car. Sadly, you desired to spend time with your family, unbeknownst to me. Why did you not tell me?’

‘Because, as I said when I saw your dozens of missed calls and messages later that night, after I had _lost my father_ , you did not need to know every single thing I was doing!’ 

This was the same discussion they’d had in Dalaran when Arthas had confronted Jaina about the accident. Bile threatens to rise in Jaina’s throat because he had known all along what had happened. She wishes she is powerful enough to throw herself onto him and battle him herself. 

Sylvanas gasps hoarsely for breath, still fighting against the collar of ice around her neck. Yet when she looks at Jaina her eyes are not filled with rage. They look pleading, as if begging her not to join him. She opens her mouth in a silent few words that Jaina cannot understand. The icy bind starts to crack at the edges.

‘You know, I could kill you with a mere thought,’ Arthas darkly says. 

Jaina lays a lot more courage in her snappy reply than she really feels. ‘You could have killed me in the time it took you to say that, too. But you didn't.’ 

For a moment, the silence grows to a deafening level. Then Sylvanas’ collar of ice shatters with a piercing, grating sound. 

‘Die, demon!’ Sylvanas rasps, leaping forward, slashing with her weapon, fangs bared and snarling in rage. Yet she stops dead in her tracks when Arthas lifts a single hand, slipping to a halt on the ice. Then she gasps, bringing a hand to her head and groaning as the Lich King clenches his gauntlet to a fist. 

‘ _Sylvanas_.’ 

His words reverberate in the ice, sending tremors though Jaina. She looks at Sylvanas in confusion, as the fallen angel grasps at her head and struggles to keep a hold of her blade. 

Arthas steps forward. Sylvanas groans louder, in pain. Her tail curls between her legs in fear and panic.

‘ _Kneel_ ,’ the Lich King commands. 

Sylvanas’ legs buckle. Sagging to the ground with a scream, she cowers, her entire body shaking, ears pressing flatly against her skull. 

Jaina runs up to her, slipping over the ice. In horror, she looks at the fallen angel’s face. Her eyes are glazed over blue. Furiously, she turns to Arthas. 

‘H-how could you? Release her!’ 

‘Ah, Jaina…’ Arthas looks down upon her, resting the tip of his sword on the ground. ‘I will. Join me, Jaina. Arise by my side, and I will release her.’ 

Sylvanas lets out a harrowing cry, fighting against the Lich King’s control. But she is losing, the black tears on her cheeks slowly fill with blue. Now Jaina finally understands why she was so hesitant about sharing her name when they first met. To have it used against her so many times must be horrifying. 

Rage threatens to overcome Jaina, but then she looks at the struggling fallen angel, on her knees, her mind being consumed by the Lich King’s presence, so far removed from the proud figure in armour that assured her a few minutes ago. If she joins Arthas, Sylvanas would be free.  

As if Arthas sees her doubt, he says: ‘Become invincible, Jaina. Rule with me. You shall have everything your heart desires!’ 

‘How do you know what my heart desires?’ Jaina snaps. Wisps of thin, whitish hair show from underneath the helmet. No, this isn’t the blonde-haired prince she once fell for. All lies and deceit. At least Sylvanas is honest, somewhat. _Arthas slaughtered nearly her entire race. And she… she killed the Kaldorei, but under his command,_ Jaina thinks. _I haven’t thrown myself into chaos headfirst for nothing. There must be another way._

Arthas is waiting, near calmly, his hands resting atop the pommel of Frostmourne. 

‘I won’t join you,’ Jaina declares. ‘You massacred entire races.’ 

She kneels down besides Sylvanas, tilting the fallen angel’s head towards her with a careful hand, feeling how her grey skin is even colder than normally. It seems as if Sylvanas barely recognizes her, snarling and grinding her teeth together. The fallen angel frightens her, as much as when she first shed her human disguise. Yet she has to try. 

‘Sylvanas,’ she softly says. ‘Sylvanas, look at me.’ 

Arthas responds by calling the fallen angel to him, so loudly that it feels like his voice is creeping into Jaina’s brain. Sylvanas jerks her head towards him, movements stiff and unnatural. When Jaina winds her arm underneath Sylvanas’, resting a hand on her back and slowly trying to bring her to her senses, she finds her muscles tensed, as shivers wrack her body. Yet she pulls the fallen angel close, so their chests nearly touch. 

The Lich King growls. ‘ _Sylvanas._ ’ 

Breathing out harsly, Sylvanas digs her fingers into Jaina’s back, rolling her blued eyes wildly in her sockets. A pained scream rips from her throat as she refuses to listen, even as her muscles cramp and spasm. Jaina holds her through it, bringing one hand up to caress her hair. Sylvanas’ claws suddenly jut out from her fingers, cutting through Jaina’s blue jacket. Jaina cannot suppress a sharp noise as they prick into her skin, drawing a drop of blood each.

‘ _Kill her_ ,’ Arthas snarls. 

At once, Sylvanas tumbles forward, pinning Jaina underneath her with her full weight. Jaina’s head hits the ice, so hard that her vision blackens for a moment. Struggling, she tries to free her arms, but Sylvanas’ iron grip keeps them pinned to the ice. It pains her to see the fallen angel in the very grip of what she was here to break free of. A low whine comes from Sylvanas’ chest. Her breath heaves as she rips her hands from Jaina’s body, clawing at her face, still fighting the control. Red bleeds through the blue of her eyes. 

Jaina captures her hands before she can damage herself. Warming the cold grey skin with her own, she whispers: ‘You’re with me now, it’s okay.’ 

Yet for all of her goodwill, Jaina isn’t stronger than Arthas. With another surge of magic, he regains control. Sylvanas’ eyes fill with blue again, so much so that it sparkles forth. The fallen angel lunges, slamming Jaina’s hands into the ice and opening her mouth, ready to strike. The double pair of fangs in her mouth gleams in the icy light. 

Jaina feels the cold point of a fang rest on the skin of her bared throat, she stops fighting. ‘You know…’ she shakily says. ‘When I said I wanted to finish this together… this isn’t exactly what I meant.’ 

Instead of biting down and tearing out Jaina’s throat, Sylvanas retreats, marginally. With a soft thump, she lays her forehead onto the ice next to Jaina’s head, breathing rapidly. She tries to form words, but the continued cramping of her muscles and Arthas’ control swimming in her head make it hard. ‘Jai - na,’ she manages, before her breath cuts off again. ‘Go… away. Run!’ 

At that moment, Jaina’s panic and fear leave her system. Sylvanas is in there, she has some kind of awareness to what is going on. So the road to change is open. ‘No,’ she says, much, much more softly than she intended. ‘No, Sylvanas, you’re with me now. It’s alright. We’re in this together. ’ 

Slowly, Sylvanas calms down. Her breathing eases and the blue leaves her eyes. She sits up and shudders one final time before staring into Jaina’s eyes with her red ones for a split second. Then she jumps off her. In a blur, she grabs her sword from the ground and lunges at the Lich King, howling in unbridled rage. They are already whirling around each other when Jaina collects herself. Still shaking from nearly being mauled by Sylvanas, she stands up. But she soon realizes that she is powerless to help Sylvanas. She cannot fight, or aid her in her battle in any other way. 

~~~~~

Sylvanas is a whirlwind of jabs and slashes, but her blade largely strikes Arthas’ armour without harming him. Yet she is quick enough to dodge the huge swings of his blade. It crashes into the ice wall behind her, shattering it, sending shards flying in all directions. Sylvanas jumps over them, striking at a joint in his armour, as she had done when they first fought. She forces memories of that event down and berates herself for being distracted in battle. A large overhead swipe of Frostmourne forces her to duck and halt her assault. Yet now he is vulnerable, gathering his strength for another attack. Using her lighter blade to her advantage, she bolts forward, striking low and burying her sword into his flesh by the knee. 

Victoriously grinning, Sylvanas watches as the Lich King goes down. Now _he_ is the one kneeling. His breath is strained within his helmet and Sylvanas feels adrenaline and pride rush through her chest. This is what she came here for. Finally, she will avenge her people, her fallen rangers, Jaina’s father, Kalira. Finally, she can reunite with her sisters, protect her homeland from all threats as its Ranger-General. Finally, she will have her wings again. She can nearly feel the Lich King’s curses lifting from her skin so that they may sprout from her shoulders anew. 

She smiles somewhat slyly at Jaina, who is watching in marvel from the other side of the room. It was an easy fight, easier than she had expected. Yet of course, the Lich King had been slow in his cumbersome armour, while she had a set of leathers made according to Quel’thalas ranger style. What a preposterously stupid thought of the Lich King it had been to make those. She strides to her opponent. Frostmourne lays forgotten besides him, as he wrenches her blade free, shattering it in his hand. For a moment, Sylvanas feels disheartened, but then she grins again. 

How poetic it would be, to strike him down with his own blade. 

Arthas gets up, but Sylvanas knows that she is faster. Sprinting for the blade, she hears Jaina shout in victory as well. 

Then Arthas growls a spell. Sylvanas feels the ground thrum with magic. She runs faster, dashing forward to grab Frostmourne before he han lay a filthy hand on it. A spike of ice erupts from the ground before her. She is only just able to leap over it, snagging in the tip with her thigh. The enchanted ice cuts cleanly through the leather and she feels a shallow gash burn on her skin. Furiously, she looks at Arthas, a hiss rolling from her throat. Blood trickles over his armour as well as hers. He is nearly defeated. More spikes form from the floor beneath her feet. Sylvanas dodges every single one with elegance, using the firm leather soles of her ranger armour’s boots to get a grip on the surface and leap the final feet to Frostmourne. 

The Lich King laughs. It echoes in the room. Sylvanas makes a dash for the sword as a wall of ice draws up before her feet. She grabs the top of it and lets the growing ice lift her higher so she can flip over it with ease. Arthas’ eyes glow a brighter, colder blue. Ice creaks and the room starts to shake. 

Behind Arthas, Jaina staggers, nearly losing her balance. The woman shouts a particularly crude insult at the Lich King and Sylvanas feels pride surge in her chest for her. _Only a few more seconds, Jaina,_ she thinks. _Then I can slay him and end our perils. Then I will take you to Quel’thalas._

She might have shouted a war cry too as she catches Jaina’s eyes. The Lich King lifts his arm high and the room shakes so violently that even Sylvanas has trouble staying on her feet. 

Jaina slips, arms flailing around wildly as she loses her balance. The floor near her feet splits open, an ice spike erupting from it. Before the fallen angel has time to shout a warning or get to Jaina, it hits its mark. 

Sylvanas feels her blood run cold as it impales her by the waist.

Jaina screams hoarsely, in blinding agony, desperately clawing at the ice through her body while blood flows out of her mouth. After a few seconds, her arms drop limply next to her body. The spike is the only thing holding her from the ground.

Sylvanas’ vision turns red. The cry that comes from her mouth is a violent shriek. Her back burns. Not just between her shoulder blades, where her scars are the broadest. No, along the entire length of the blackened scars, Sylvanas feels power spark underneath her skin. A dark golden glow bleeds into the creases of her armour, filling the spaces with shimmering, nearly liquid light. The pressure of the power increases, warming and burning outwards on the fallen angel’s back. Then it bursts. Sylvanas sees, in her reflection in the icy walls surrounding her, that two skeletal golden flames have erupted from her back. The tears under her eyes glow gold as well, and she screams. 

A wail of pure grief echoes through Icecrown Citadel as Sylvanas throws herself upon Arthas. Her fiery wings propel her forward, colliding with the Lich King’s dark icy armour. She can feel them solidifying into flesh and feathers, yet has no time to wait until they are fully recovered. An unearthly howl tears from her throat as she wildly slashes at Arthas’ face with her claws. 

But rage and grief blind her. 

Arthas carelessly backhands the furious fallen angel. A hard gauntlet hits her in the chest, so hard that she hears her ribs crunch. The trace amount of regained powers bleeds away from her skin as her wings vanish into ash once again. Then she collides with the glaciated wall and falls limply next to Jaina. Pain surges through Sylvanas’ body with her every move as she fails to rise to her feet. From the corner of her eye, she sees the spike retract into the ground, dropping Jaina into a pool of her own blood. 

She is gasping for air when Sylvanas crawls to her. But only blood dribbles out of her mouth, as her deep blue eyes, filled with panic and pain, find Sylvanas’ red ones. Her hand clenches tightly in Sylvanas’ armour. One look at the wound tells the fallen angel that there is no way to save her. A hole the size of her fist, straight through her abdomen. Blood soaks the fine white and blue of her jacket. She screams Jaina’s name, getting only a wheezing spurt of breath as answer. Blood quickly drenches her armour too, finding its way underneath her gloves and bracers, running over her skin, warm and sticky. She lifts Jaina from the ground, cradling her in her arms, against her chest, resting Jaina’s legs over her folded knees. 

‘S-syl…-’ Jaina whimpers, voice marred with pain. 

‘ _Shhh,_ be quiet. Everything - it will all be alright, soon,’ Sylvanas softly says, though her voice trembles with tears. She brings a hand to Jaina’s cheek, feeling the life drain away from the cooling skin. ‘Don’t give up, Jaina. Not now we have come so far. You promised - we promised each other to end it together!’ 

Frostmourne scrapes over the ice. Arthas advances, trailing blood in his footsteps. 

As Jaina’s breathing stops, her hand losing its grip on Sylvanas’ armour and falling limply onto the ice, Sylvanas knows she has lost. 

She draws in a deep breath, despite her undoubtedly broken ribs, and snarls, letting a rough hiss roll from her throat. She had failed them. She had failed Jaina, her rangers, the hundreds of quel’dorei who had died because of her. She had failed her sisters, her family, who could never be avenged anymore. Her nightmare had been right. She would die in Icecrown Citadel, with Jaina. A small golden flame dances at the edge of her vision on her shoulder, before petering out as a wave of frost washes over her. As the last of her angelic powers are lost to the cold, Sylvanas feels something rise within her. A final shred of defiance, belonging to the Ranger-General who had defended her own lands until she was taken, defaced and set upon her own people. 

Yes, a part of her had died that day, another part had been twisted into the wretched monster she was today. But she will not die like this. On her knees in her icy prison. Holding the body of her saviour in her arms. 

No. There is only one place where she is willing to die. 

The very shadows of the chamber bend to her will as red light bleeds from her eyes, enveloping her and Jaina in a swirl of darkness. The Lich King lifts Frostmourne. As the blade comes crashing down, there is only one place that Sylvanas can think about. 

Home.

  
_(Art by Athena! Links to her sites are in the notes)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hit the author :3 
> 
> And please listen to the soundtrack I made for this!  
> https://soundcloud.com/user-768938233/home-ashen-wings-chapter-16


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're fine :')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Websites of the artist who drew the commissioned art for chapter 16:  
> https://athena-the-destroyer.tumblr.com/  
> https://sossafirestar.wixsite.com/athenas-art

_(Commission from Athena! Links to her websites in the notes)_

 

Sylvanas’ chest heaves as the tendrils of her shadowy powers dissipate. Her ribs feel like gravel, but the cold slowly seeps from her body. She is still kneeling and has trouble keeping a steady grip on Jaina. The blood… it makes everything slippery. At last her arms give out and she has to drop her in the golden grass. The fallen angel keels over, groaning as her broken ribs shift when she falls. Her breath comes out in wheezing gasps. 

Then she hears footsteps and fights against unconsciousness. She has to protect Jaina, or her body at the very least. If she had been more careful when fighting the Lich King, none of this would have happened. Sylvanas does not even know where she is. Did she teleport to the right place?

But the startled little screech she hears tells her enough. The vague calling of a name not belonging to that voice nor to herself already make her regret her decision to shadowstep to Quel’thalas. As she starts to black out, her battered body finally approaching its breaking point, she sees a blue shape dance in front of her eyes, soon joined by a green one.

Yes, she is home. 

~~~~~

When Jaina becomes aware of herself again, the first thing she feels is the pain. A deep, burning ache, blooming from somewhere in her abdomen. She lets out a weak groan when she shifts, the small movement making everything ten times as bad. Now she vaguely registers that she is lying in a bed, with soft blankets on top of her and a pillow underneath her head and neck. She appears to be dressed in her underwear, and a strange taut thing around her stomach that she recognizes as bandages after a few moments. Altogether, it means that she is still alive. 

Shivering anew, she thinks back to the last things she saw. Sylvanas, on the brink of victory, suddenly halted by those ice spikes, shooting up from the floor. Arthas on his knees. The entire room had started to shake and she had slipped over the icy floor. Then the ground beneath her feet had burst open and everything had been consumed by pain, blood and her insides shifting in ways that should not be possible. Then suddenly, a flare of gold so bright she had tried to shield her eyes, despite the fact that her muscles did not respond. She had been swallowed by darkness, shaken by Sylvanas, gone again, heard Sylvanas screaming her name and tried to respond, yet only blood had come out of her mouth. After that, it had all stopped. And now, she is clearly not in Icecrown Citadel anymore.   
  
Jaina, raised as a headstrong sailor as she is, tries again to get her bearings, shifting an arm to sit up from the too-soft bed. Instantly the entire world starts to wobble again. An odd wet sensation blooms where the bandage covers most of her stomach. _Oh, that is blood_ , Jaina realizes. Not good. Not good at all. She really does not need to lose any more of the stuff. With her dulled senses, she hears the vague sound of approaching footsteps. Before she can turn to the sound, because her god-forsaken body won’t listen to her mind, a warm hand brushes her shoulder.   
  
A pair of startled blue eyes gaze up at her. ‘You are awake!’ 

‘I… I guess?’ Jaina mumbles. Her voice is nearly gone, having faded into a rough croak.   
  
‘Then I shall get you something to eat. You must be very hungry.’ 

It’s a woman, Jaina realizes. A woman with silver hair, long eyebrows and a very concerned smile on her face. The shape of her nose and mouth make her think of Sylvanas, though they are not quite as sharp. When she stands and slowly turns to the nightstand, to retrieve a cup of water, something trails after her. A brilliant white cape. At least, so Jaina thinks at first. Then her vision clears a little bit more and she sees what it really is. Wings. Marvellous feathered wings that unfurl from the woman’s shoulder blades and gracefully move to avoid a bedpost when she turns back around.   
  
Jaina drinks the water that the angel gives to her, dumbfounded and unashamedly staring at those wonderrous wings. ‘I am Jaina, by the way,’ she says when having finished the cup. 

‘Yes, I have been told so. My name is Vereesa… Vereesa Windrunner.’ 

‘You’re Sylvanas’ sister!’ Jaina sits more upright, grasping her wounded stomach with a grunt of pain when she does so. Vereesa kneels down by the bed in seconds, grasping her by her shoulders with a surprising strength and coaxing her back down. ‘I’m also, uh, bleeding,’ Jaina adds with a sheepish grin.   
  
‘Sit still, I will get you aid.’ Vereesa runs out of the chamber without another word, her wings trailing behind her. The room has a wide door, obviously for its winged inhabitants. Sinking back into the pillows, because there were at least five big, fluffy pillows, Jaina follows the wooden curls on the doorframe upwards. The domed ceiling is very far away and decorated with the most beautiful starry sky painting she has ever seen. She spies a few openings in the walls. They look like doorways and for a moment, Jaina can’t figure out how anyone would get to them, since there is no staircase to be seen. Then she remembers: wings. Marvelling at the beautiful golds and reds of the room and its decorations, she forgets about her pain for a brief moment. Until someone stumbles in with a great clangour. A tall, blonde woman with green clothing and most importantly, wings. She also drags a struggling Sylvanas in by one of her larger horns.   
  
‘You didn’t bring her here soon enough! See? Now she’s bleeding, _again_ , like yesterday! If it’s internal again, you might still get her killed, Sylvanas.’ 

‘I cannot control when she is bleeding! Maybe it’s because you and Vereesa are absolutely shit at healing spells?’ Sylvanas spits, dislodging herself from the other woman’s grasp. She looks oddly small compared to the blonde. Of course, the wings make a big difference.   
  
‘Maybe you should never have taken her to that place? Then she would not have gotten _impaled on an ice spike,_ because you _weren’t looking out for her!_ ’   
  
‘Jaina and I promised each other that we would end the man who made us both suffer together.’   
  
‘Yes, and refusal is a thing. So is a clear sense of what is much too risky to undertake with a _human_ .’   
  
‘Whether she is human or not does not matter, Alleria!’ Sylvanas’ voice cracks as she turns away from the other woman, whose name appears to be Alleria. She looks distressed, with her mouth twisted into a snarl and her hands clenched into fists. She also looks very tired.   
  
‘Sylvanas?’ Jaina softly says. ‘I’m here and… alive.’   
  
Immediately, the fallen angel rushes over to her, only to stumble and let out a hiss of pain. Her nails extend into claws as she grasps the edge of the bed before shifting to sit down onto the covers. 

Worried, Jaina wrestles one arm out from underneath the blankets and grasps her hand. ‘Are you alright?’ 

‘I am fine,’ Sylvanas mumbles. She lifts a leg from the floor, showing Jaina the band of shimmering golden light that wraps around her angle, splitting into threads and braiding itself together again. For a moment, Jaina thinks it’s one of Sylvanas’ returned powers, made from the same golden fire than was the last thing she saw before nearly dying, then the fallen angel says: ‘They put it on me so I can’t escape from here. It prevents me from moving quickly.’ 

Sharply gasping, Jaina squeezes her hand more tightly. ‘That’s terrible!’ 

‘I’m glad you think so. Now please, convince my sisters to take the damned thing off.’ 

‘That won’t happen anytime soon,’ Alleria says, walking up to the bed with a returned Vereesa close behind her. ‘After Jaina has recovered, we will take you to the Regent Lord. He will know what to do with you.’ 

While Jaina wants to defend Sylvanas, arguments for doing so are very few and far between, due to her weakened state. With a sigh, she resolves to think about it, while Vereesa carefully peels off the bandage and tells her not to look at the wound. Truthfully, Jaina isn’t very interested in seeing a hole through her body either, so she turns her head to the side and gazes into Sylvanas’ red eyes. In front of her sister she looks small and dejected. Again, mostly due to the impressive wings that Alleria bears. 

‘Drink this, it will dim the pain for what I am about to do,’ Vereesa says while handing Jaina a small bottle with a greenish liquid. Remembering how the healing potion that she received from the kaldorei aided Sylvanas, she nods and gulps the sour liquid down. Rather than any healing, it causes the skin and flesh around the wound to go numb, a strange and not entirely pleasant sensation. When she wants to put the bottle onto the nightstand, she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. Promptly, she drops the bottle with a screech as her hands fly to her hair, patting and loosening her braid to see if what she thought to spy in the glass is true. When she pulls a few strands of hair into her line of sight, her fears are confirmed. 

No longer is her hair a vibrant blond colour. To Jaina’s horror, most of it is starkly white, feeling thinner between her fingers than she can remember. Brushing through her hair, she shakes her head as she feels tears well up in her eyes. ‘H-how did this happen?’ she asks Sylvanas, who purses her lips and looks intently at the floor. 

‘During the… When you were injured,’ Sylvanas mutters. ‘Or just before I shadowstepped here, I think. I am not entirely certain… When Vereesa and Alleria healed you, it was nearly completely white.’ 

‘Nearly completely?’ 

‘Yes.’ Sylvanas leans forward and takes a strand of Jaina’s hair between her fingers, so her cool digits brush over Jaina’s forehead for a fleeting moment. When she pulls the lock so that Jaina can see it, she sees that it is still golden, unlike the majority of her hair. A small consolation. Thankful, she covers Sylvanas’ hand with her own and rubs over it a few times as Vereesa reapplies the bandages. 

‘What else happened? And… Sylvanas, how did we get here?’ 

Shifting on the sheets, Sylvanas sighs deeply. Now Jaina can see that she too has suffered from the battle. A bandage peeks out from the sleeves of her red tunic, which bears the same embroidery patterns as her sisters’ clothing. She has scrapes on her forehead and hands, and Jaina hears her suck in a quick, pained breath when she strains her healing ribs. ‘I managed to escape him… again, leaving behind my rangers, failing at my only chance to restore my powers. But I couldn’t leave you, Jaina. After all your aid, I couldn’t let you be killed. Miraculously, my powers took me here, to Windrunner Spire, which I once called my home. My sisters could heal your injuries… and mine too, more or less.’

‘From our point of view, Sylvanas suddenly appeared, dragged a bleeding, not breathing human into our house and demanded that we would heal her,’ the angel clad in green, who Jaina thought to be named Alleria, said. ‘But that is fine,’ she quickly added. ‘Since she promised us that we can drag her to the Regent Lord so he can decide what to do with her, after she slaughtered her way through Silvermoon when the Lich King invaded.’ 

When Jaina sucked in a breath to interject and tell Alleria that Sylvanas had been under mind control, the fallen angel sharply shook her head to quiet her. While Jaina understood that it might not be the best time to start a discussion with the three sisters, she promised herself to at least try to convince them of Sylvanas’ relative innocence later. An awkward silence falls, as Sylvanas continues to shift around on the bed, Jaina tries to put her thoughts in order and the other Windrunner sisters stare at the both of them. It takes much too long for comfort, until Vereesa clears her throat. 

  
‘We have prepared dinner… A hearty meal, to help you recover, Jaina,’ she says, slowly rising from where she had chosen to lean against the wall. ‘Allow us to help you to stand.’ 

Though Jaina expects Sylvanas to stand up too, the fallen angel remains seated on the bed as her sisters approach Jaina. Alleria folds the blankets back and winds an arm around Jaina’s torso, tugging her upright. Meanwhile, Vereesa turns to the closet and gives Jaina possibly the softest silken nightgown that she has ever worn. Ever so carefully, the two angels help her to her feet, lightly brushing their wings against her arms when they support her with an arm each. Sylvanas sits on the bed for a few more seconds before slowly following them out of the room. The tension and animosity between the sisters is palpable and Jaina greatly dislikes it. Though, unlike the fallen angel, she thinks that she should not poke her nose into their family matters. Except perhaps a good word about Sylvanas, later, when she is not dizzy and has trouble standing despite the support of Alleria and Vereesa’s strong arms. _Are all angels this strong?_ she briefly wonders. 

The living room is as rounded and as lavishly decorated as the bedroom they came from, though Jaina spots that many of the wood of the walls appears to be renewed and that the door to the terrace has one rusty hinge and one brand new one. _Didn’t Sylvanas say something about her childhood home being destroyed?_ she thinks. The copious amounts of food quickly distract her, however. Her stomach growls and her eyes widen as she takes in the generous meal. Warming, flavourful soup, fine cuts of roasted meat, plentiful salads and fresh bread lay on the large table. After thankfully accepting a bowl with soup and a slice of bread, Jaina starts eating. As caught up in the meal as she is, she doesn’t notice that Sylvanas is nowhere to be seen until she is halfway through the bowl.   
  
When she asks Vereesa, the angel shrugs. “She is eating outside, as to not disturb us.” 

~~~~~

Sylvanas drops her spoon listlessly back into her soup, so the liquid splatters over the edge and onto her clothing. She cares little. While it does not physically pain her to be in Windrunner Spire, she feels as unwelcome as when she was in Icecrown Citadel. Which is most likely true, since her sisters, especially Alleria, seem to hold nothing but contempt for her. Still, Jaina is alive. Sylvanas is willing to thank the Gods on her knees for that blessing. And she will go back to her own world after a few days of recovery. Then Sylvanas herself will face Lord Theron and hopefully talk him out of executing her on the spot. She ponders further, since imprisonment would also mean wasting her time and not being able to slay Arthas, with double the amount of vengeance in her heart. Technically she could flee Quel’thalas while her sisters are doting over Jaina. To Suramar, for example. She knows that Thalyssra accepts refugees, but it isn’t as if the woman wouldn’t recognize her. Besides, the last time she had heard from the Arcanist, she had just successfully led a rebellion, had nearly lost her life in said rebellion and was still regrowing her withered wings. No, Suramar wasn’t an option. Besides, with the spell that Alleria had placed around her leg, she could not run, or even walk quickly.   
  
Listlessly, Sylvanas rubs over her bruised ribs, still healing after the battle. Jaina had been given just about every healing potion that the Windrunners had in store and despite the fact that the family’s healing powers weren’t the strongest amongst the Quel’dorei, as Sylvanas knew all too well when she had failed to heal a small illness in Jaina weeks ago, Vereesa and Alleria had combined theirs to get the woman to start breathing again. It had nearly been a resurrection, though Sylvanas knew that such a feat wasn’t possible. No single Quel’dorei, Kaldorei or any of their kin could generate the power necessary to do such a thing. The magisters who had once been able to had died long ago, and even those had been few and far between, with the legendary Queen Azshara as one of few remembered for their powers. 

Sighing again and putting the bowl down on the ground besides where she is sitting cross-legged, Sylvanas covers her face with her hands and groans into her palms. She simply cannot stand to watch her sisters go about their business, with their pristine forms, free of abominations like horns and tear brands. Not to forget their wings. Gods, she had nearly recovered hers, having felt the flesh and feathers reform and having seen her golden powers seep into her skin again. Nearly, all the curses that the Lich King had placed upon her had been broken. Had she left Jaina to die and not rushed for her, she would have had the time to regain everything… and killed Arthas on Jaina’s corpse. But she hadn’t. Her heart had won over her mind and Sylvanas hates herself for doing so. Still, the smile that had graced Jaina’s face when she had woken from her days of unconsciousness had warmed her heart, more so than she wanted to admit. 

‘Sylvanas, we’re done with eating, come inside and hurry up,’ Alleria says, suddenly appearing from the doorway to the main body of the Spire. 

‘I would, sister mine, if you had not placed this bind around my ankle,’ Sylvanas mumbles, gesturing to the sparkling golden band around her leg and walking as slowly as she can to avoid it triggering again and shocking her. Alleria shoves her into the living room, closes the door behind her and flies up to one of the many doors in the walls of the Spire with a few flaps of her wings, leaving Sylvanas with her younger sister. ‘Where is Jaina?’ 

Vereesa, who is sitting in one of the comfortable chairs with her wings wrapped around her like a blanket, briefly looks up to Sylvanas before turning her attention back to the book she is reading. ‘In bed, she needs to rest well. I will bring her another potion in a moment. She has taken an interest in a few books of ours.’  

‘Ah… yes, she is an avid reader,’ Sylvanas quietly says. That is a lie, which stings in her chest. She knows so relatively little of the woman. So few things that aren’t about her painful past, her abuse at Arthas’ hands or her family. So few little, nice things that actually matter. Feeling awkward and small in the cavernous living room of Windrunner Spire, with so many doors above her that she cannot reach because she can’t fly, including her own bedroom, Sylvanas bites her lip. She has to talk to Jaina. Perhaps just to say her goodbyes, for real, this time. Perhaps to apologize for things she knows she will not be forgiven for.   
  
‘Can I bring her the potion?’ she asks Vereesa, who seems to have forgotten about her presence already. 

Briefly unwrapping her pristine white feathers to show Sylvanas her indifferent face, she says: ‘Yes, it’s in the bathroom adjoining her guestroom. But why? Didn’t you want to stay away from her after nearly getting her killed?’ 

‘I merely wish to speak to her.’ Hurriedly, Sylvanas walks away from her younger sister while a blush quickly rises to her cheeks. Yes, Vereesa had always been able to see straight through her lies and pretense, even when she still called her Little Moon and had watched as her feathers grew in and she tumbled around in her first flight. It doesn’t stop from embarrassing her and resting her horns against the wood of the guestroom before carefully opening it and wincing at the creaking sound it makes.   
  
Jaina lies on the bed, tucked in under two thick blankets, resting against a veritable mountain of pillows. The book she has in her hands reads “The Secrets of Arcane Magic” on the cover. A book given to beginner mages. She looks up when Sylvanas enters the room and gives her a weak smile. Underneath that smile, Sylvanas can see the exhaustion, the pallor of her skin and the pain that every little shift seems to cause her. The fallen angel’s heart seems to shrink within her chest. All of it is her fault.   
  
‘Good evening!’ Jaina says with as much cheer as she can muster. She does not seem particularly distraught or angry, which quite frankly surprised Sylvanas. She only looks to be very tired. 

After retrieving the bowl with the healing potion from the bathroom and handing it to Jaina, Sylvanas carefully sits down on the bed by Jaina’s feet. It’s as close to the woman as she permits herself. ‘Good evening to you too, Jaina.’ 

A silence falls as Jaina sips from the potion, looking intently at Sylvanas over the edge of the bowl, as if expecting her to say something. And while the fallen angel wants to speak, to apologize, to tell Jaina that she should never have taken her to Icecrown Citadel and to swear on everything she still holds dear that she will go back there and destroy the Lich King once and for all, paying with her own life if she must, nothing comes out of her throat. The sting of tears makes itself known and she feels her ears wilt alongside her head. So she remains silent as her thoughts race, averting her eyes from the soft crease of Jaina’s brow. When she dares to glance at the woman again, she finds large blue eyes and a mouth set in a small smile as the human moves the emptied bowl away, setting it on her nightstand as she licks a stray drop of potion away in the corner of her mouth.   
  
Something glows in Sylvanas’ chest, warm and threatening to burst outwards. A lock of Jaina’s hair, white and more brittle than before, comes loose from the rest when she shifts in the bed and lifts her head from the pillows she is leaning against. Sylvanas wants to tuck it behind her short human ear and see the smile that graces her lips brighten, but she refrains, clenching her hands in the bedsheets instead.   
  
That is, until Jaina speaks. 

‘So… Sylvanas, are you coming over here or are you going to awkwardly sit there until I fall asleep? We promised that we would talk about something, after we had fought Arthas, after all.’ 

‘We did?’ The fallen angel can’t recall making any such promises. 

 _  
_ ‘Yes, that _thing_ that the High Priestess said to us… after I had saved you,’ Jaina says, her voice fading into a murmur. ‘Do you remember now?’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So does anyone remember what Tyrande said in chapter 6?


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we end the medium slow burn of this fic!   
> While it took me forever to get here, I'm glad a lot of people stuck around for the midway point :D 
> 
> From her on, it'll be the same angst fest, but with a little more fluff mixed in. Oh, and wings, those too, sort of, kinda, not really, about half, whoops
> 
> (therightpurpleelves, this one is for you)

The realization hits Sylvanas as hard and as elegantly as a sack of bricks. She also reacts that way, gasping and regretting her decision to bring Jaina her potion in an instant. For weeks, she had pushed it to the back of her mind and even successfully forgotten about it. Yet at Jaina’s words, she remembers. She remembers how Tyrande Whisperwind had loomed over her, as she lay on the cold concrete of the roof while her blood spilled beneath her. She remembers how Jaina had very nearly thrown herself into the Kaldorei’s scythe… for her. She remembers how Jaina had pleaded and begged on her knees for the High Priestess to give Sylvanas another chance. 

 

All for her. 

 

And what had she done with that chance? Nearly gotten the woman killed, bleached her hair by allowing Arthas to get close to her with his frost magic and dragged her down into the animosity and contempt her sisters displayed. 

 

This is it, she realizes. This is the end of their shared times. And now she has to say something to make that end clear between the two of them. Jaina expects that from her. Sylvanas feels the wing scars on her skin pull and itch more than ever, reminding her of how she failed not once, but twice. She failed to get her revenge and her powers, and she failed to keep Jaina out of danger. The woman is still looking intently at her, waiting. Sylvanas doesn’t dare to glance up at her blue eyes for long enough to see her exact expression, but she knows that it’s most likely laced with disappointment, pain and just… distance. The fallen angel feels small. Extremely small. As small as she felt when fading in and out of consciousness on Jaina’s couch, the first evening that she had been in the human’s house. Oh, how willing she is to go back in time and choose that moment above the hollow emptiness that she feels now. Clearing her throat, she bites back the tears that burn in her eyes as she says: ‘Jaina…’    
  
It hurts to say her name.    
  
‘I know that I ruined it… Any chance at… at a shared time with you. I know it’s over and - and I wish it was different.’ With a deep breath, Sylvanas bows her head deeper. Her horns feel heavier than they ever felt before, a burden on the crown of her head. ‘I wish I could still…  _ be with you.  _ It felt safe, despite our differences. Safe amongst the turmoil of the things we undertook together.’ 

 

‘Sylvanas -’ Jaina quietly says, lifting a hand from the bed and waves a hand in the fallen angel’s field of vision to catch her attention. ‘Look at me.’ 

 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Sylvanas lifts her head and looks into Jaina’s eyes with a heavy heart. Yet the blue eyes that meet her aren’t angry, hurt or even disappointed. She wears the concerned expression that Sylvanas knows well, with her eyebrows drawn up and a nervous smile on her lips.    
  
After taking a deep breath, Jaina asks: ‘What exactly are you talking about?’ Another pause, in which she properly sits upright and bends forward to grasp Sylvanas’ clenched hand, loosening her white-knuckled grip on the bedsheets. Despite the pain causing her to strain her wound in that position, she firmly rubs over the fallen angel’s hand. ‘You… you think that I hate you? That’s why you came here to talk to me?’ 

 

‘Yes!’ Sylvanas exclaims, withdrawing her hand as if her mere touch would burn Jaina. ‘I should have walked away in the station, in Boralus. Then none of this would have happened.’

 

 ‘Then you would have died in the battle. Or Arthas would have enslaved you again and used you for… well, I don’t want to think about that.’ Shaking her head Jaina leans back against the pillows. Her frown deepens as she looks up and down the fallen angel’s hunched figure. ‘Sylvanas… I - I thought you felt the same as I do! I thought… You said you wanted to be with me, right?’ 

 

‘If such a thing were still possible, yes.’ While Sylvanas cannot ban the tremors from her voice, she dares to let a glimmer of hope rise within her chest. She meets Jaina’s eyes again, to find a much less nervous and much more encouraging smile. 

 

‘I thought  _ that  _ was what you wanted to talk about. And what we  _ should  _ talk about. How we are going to go about that. While Arthas is still alive… or functioning, at least, you’ll want your revenge and I understand that now better than ever -’ Jaina pats the blanket covering her stomach lightly. ‘- and while I love you and I’m absolutely willing to help you again… we need a plan where no one dies or nearly dies, this time.’ 

 

Sylvanas feels as though she is paralyzed. It’s nearly as if her brain can not, or does not want to understand what Jaina just said. Too many good things in a single sentence, and they had all sounded all too real. Carefully, she scoots over to Jaina’s side, sitting down on the mattress, before taking a deep, shuddering breath. ‘You -’    
  
‘That was too hasty, wasn’t it?’ Jaina mumbles under her breath, slowly but surely feeling a furious blush creep onto her cheeks. ‘I didn’t know how else to say it… It’s been a long time.’ 

 

‘Much the same,’ Sylvanas says in a whisper. ‘I reciprocate the feeling… if you needed any confirmation.’    
  
Now Jaina broke into a laugh. ‘Your blush and your closeness are enough of a confirmation. Seriously, you’ve never been this close to me when you weren’t injured or dying… except that one time you fell asleep on me.’ 

 

‘I did?’ 

 

‘Yes, when we were watching the documentary!’ With an admittedly cute giggle, Jaina grasps Sylvanas’ hand again, warming the fallen angel’s cool skin with hers. On Sylvanas’ part, she feels as if her own heartbeat will soon become too much to bear, its usual sluggish tempo, courtesy of Arthas’ curses, seemingly speeding up further every second. She feels her ears perk up alongside her head, eliciting another fit of giggles from Jaina. ‘Come closer to me, Sylvanas,’ the woman whispers, lifting the double blankets under which she lays. ‘It’s been so long since a lover laid next to me. I want to feel it… please?’ 

 

There is hunger in her voice, and longing, and warmth too. So much warmth. With great restraint, Sylvanas stands up from the bed, righthing herself up to her full height, proudly titling her chin up and lifting her horned head high. ‘Alright,’ she says, with a voice now barely containing her own desire. The Quel’dorei pride that lingers within her now truly begins to shine through, as her lips curl into an honest, fanged smile. 

 

‘Well, are you joining me or…?’ In her slight impatience, Jaina holds out her hand, wincing a little when her wound prevents her from fully leaning in Sylvanas’ direction. 

 

The fallen angel’s smile grows more secretive and shrewd. 

 

‘A moment,  _ dalah’surfal _ .’ 

 

~~~~~

  
  


_ A moment.  _ Jaina does not understand what Sylvanas needs “a moment” for, especially not so soon after their confession. When Sylvanas had entered her room, wallowing in her self-loathing and despair, she thought that the fallen angel would surely dismiss her affection. Admittedly, it had been building for a long time, and Jaina feels dumb for not deciding to screw it and tell Sylvanas  _ before  _ following her into Icecrown Citadel. But a promise was a promise, they had decided to only talk about it  _ after _ fighting him. And with a shock, she realized that they had even said “after we have faced Arthas”, without actually naming whether they would win or not. Besides, it would only have distracted the fallen angel in her battle. 

 

She watches on as Sylvanas walks to the large cupboard of the room and opens it, grabbing a white cotton shirt with poofy sleeves and a leather thread that laces in a zigzag down the low cut of the collar. The fluency with which Sylvanas retrieves the garment surprised Jaina for a moment, until she remembers that she is technically in Sylvanas’ house… and perhaps even in the bedroom that once belonged to her. For some reason she cannot fathom, the thought makes her blush. In an attempt to distract herself, she asks: ‘What did you say? What does that word mean?’ Having learned from the insulted look she got from Sylvanas when she mispronounced a word in the fallen angel’s language in Icecrown Citadel, she does not attempt that again. 

 

When Sylvanas comes to stand by her side again, laying the shirt on the covers and bringing a hand up to her collar. From the way she grins, Jaina can see that she knows and  _ enjoys _ what her behaviour does to Jaina, the confident strides and the smirk included. ‘ _ Dalah’surfal  _ -’ she says, letting the word roll elegantly off her tongue, ‘ - means “my sweetheart”, Jaina.’

 

With that, it’s real. It’s official and Jaina can’t bring herself to look at her lover for a moment, instead covering her mouth with a hand in a futile attempt to do away with her blush. She regrets it the instant she looks up again, because she is greeted by the marvellous sight of Sylvanas discarding her tunic, carelessly letting it drop besides the bed. She is quick to grab her nightshirt, letting Jaina get no more than a glimpse at the scar that carves a deep path across the skin of her stomach. It seems as if that is the only thing that Sylvanas wishes to hide, as she makes no move to actually put the shirt on for a good few seconds, just holding it in front of her body, perhaps even flexing her biceps a bit. 

 

Equally languidly, she turns around to slowly tug the shirt over her muscled back, where her wing scars snake down over her shoulder blades. Given how dramatic the fallen angel could be, Jaina isn’t all that surprised that she puts on so much of a show. Still, she sighs and says: ‘Sylvanas, are you going to come over here or not?’ 

 

Tugging a few times on her shirt, which seems to have snagged slightly on her back, Sylvanas shucks out of her trousers in less than a few seconds, leaving her in the nightshirt and a pair of boxers that Jaina recognizes as one of the few she borrowed Sylvanas. Sliding one knee onto the bed and leaning slightly over Jaina, the fallen angel’s smile slowly fades from her face. ‘I wish to give you another chance to say no, Jaina. Perhaps -’ 

 

‘Stop being dumb!’ Jaina huffs. ‘Just come here, Gods’ sake.’ 

 

With that, she pulls Sylvanas onto the bed. Yet she lets out a shrill cry when the fallen angel’s full weight lands on her healing wound. ‘ _ Aaahh!  _ Not clever, not clever at all!’ 

 

Pushing Sylvanas off herself, Jaina hastily folds the blankets back to see if she is bleeding again. Luckily that is not the case, perhaps because of the healing potion that Sylvanas brought her. It does make Sylvanas look substantially more dejected, as she slowly gets up, while her ears droop next to her head. Hesitantly, she slips under the blanket too, settling close to Jaina so their sides firmly press against each other. When she turns her head to look at Jaina with the softest look that the human has ever seen her wear, a shuddering breath leaves her body. Then she winces and shifts a few times, rubbing her back against the stack of pillows that keep them both upright in a half-sitting position. Alarmed, Jaina asks if the fallen angel is alright. 

 

‘I am fine,’ Sylvanas says. ‘Though my scars… they itch more than usual. I suppose it could be because of the battle. Finally I lost the last shreds of my Quel’dorei powers.’ 

 

With the sting of guilt in her throat, Jaina asks: ‘How do you know that?’ 

 

‘Well, I can see that you are weakened and in pain, but unlike when I felt your illness in Dalaran, I cannot sense it anymore.’ Grasping Jaina’s hand beneath the blankets and squeezing it, Sylvanas frowns deeply. ‘I had it all within my grasp… for a moment. I felt my wings forming, connecting to my body. I felt my powers returning, rushing through my veins, burning away his curses, which transformed me into this creature. A moment longer and I would have had it all again.’ 

 

‘But I got injured and was in the way,’ Jaina mumbles in a dark tone. She an involuntary shiver, she remembers how the trembling walls threw her off her feet, a split second before the ice split her body open. ‘I’m sorry, Sylv- ’

 

‘He was too strong for me. Don’t blame yourself, Jaina.’ A long silence falls, in which Sylvanas lets go of Jaina’s hand to scratch on her back, with the human hastily stopping her, wordlessly grasping her arm by the elbow and imploring her to quit before she claws herself open again. ‘Thank you,’ Sylvanas murmurs. ‘What happened… it is more my fault than yours. I should have prepared you, or told you not to come to the throne room. I should have stopped you, before we devised a plan together. Or I should have walked away in Boralus, without turning back to see your determination.’  

  
‘ _ Determination,  _ hah! I was too bold, if anything.’ Jaina laughs. ‘I was reckless too, Sylvanas. I didn’t see how dangerous it was for me. Though I understand how your quest for revenge consumed you.’  

 

‘It consumed us both,’ Sylvanas says, and for a moment, Jaina thinks that she agrees with her, until the fallen angel continues: ‘My quest consumed us both. I nearly got you killed because if it.’ 

 

If she had not been sitting so closely against Jaina, still holding her hand and sighing so deeply that her breath tickles Jaina’s unclothed shoulder, the fallen angel would surely have fled the room. Jaina knows her that well, after the time they spent together. She shakes her head, so her whitish locks sway back and forth. ‘No, Sylvanas. You saved me.’ 

 

Before Sylvanas can interject, Jaina turns to her, laying a hand on her chest and properly looking into her eyes. The fallen angel stiffens at her touch, but does not refute her. ‘You chose to save me, instead of fighting him further. It doesn't matter whether you would have won or not. It's the choice you made that matters! You chose me over yourself. That's something Arthas never did!’ 

 

Breaking the final boundary between them, Jaina throws her arms around Sylvanas, hugging her tightly to her own chest, where her heart beats madly. For the very first time since the day that Arthas left her, she feels like she can truly love again… and be loved in return. It takes a few seconds before Sylvanas melts into the embrace, but when Jaina feels her large, cool hands come up to her shoulders, she cannot repress a muted sob. 

 

Sylvanas moves a hand to stroke softly over her hair, swaying slowly for a few moments before guiding Jaina down onto the bed. When she suddenly lets go, Jaina opens her eyes, which had slipped closed without her noticing, to see Sylvanas bent off the edge of the mattress with her torso, reaching under the bed. A soft click sounds and the bedframe, which appears to be made out of two parts, one of which had been rotated upwards to allow her to sit with the support of the numerous pillows in her back, is slowly turns back. Whether it is done with magic or mechanics, Jaina cannot tell. But she does not dwell on it for long when Sylvanas places a hand under her head and rests her elbow on the bed. Ever so slowly, the fallen angel comes closer, opening her mouth yet not speaking. A silent request for a thing Jaina had not even started to think about, despite their newfound, or rather, their finally confirmed love. 

 

A kiss, as light as the feathers of the wings Sylvanas once possessed, lands on on her forehead. Another, much stronger and much more firm, on her mouth, when she presses herself up on her elbows to mimic Sylvanas’ gesture. Sylvanas is very quick to guide her down again, murmuring softly that she must not strain herself. She indulges every next request of Jaina’s, for more kisses that set the human’s chest ablaze, for a strong arm that curls around her waist, above the bandage and for permission to run her fingers over the former Quel’dorei’s ears. 

 

When Sylvanas brushes with her fingers over the edge of Jaina’s bandage, having snaked her hand underneath Jaina’s borrowed nightgown, her wispy eyebrows are suddenly updrawn. ‘Can… can I uncover it?’ she asks. ‘I could refresh the bandage too. There are new ones in the cupboard, if everything here is how I remember it to be.’ 

 

While Jaina is still not particularly looking forward to see how a hole through her body has been healing, she nods. Everything for her lover. With deft, quick fingers, Sylvanas draws the nightgown up to Jaina’s chest and undoes the numerous layers of wrappings, leaving the skin beneath exposed to the air. It feels cold on Jaina’s skin as she slowly looks down. There is a large bruise on her stomach, starting about three inches under her sternum and spreading downwards in various shades of blue, red and purple. It cannot prepare her for the sight of a ragged, half-healed, oval wound, placed just to the left side of her navel. It is roughly as big as the width of her palm, and she sees the outline of an even larger wound, in already healed skin. Yes, the Windrunners saved her life and seem to have diminished the injury substantially already. 

 

A deep sigh escapes Sylvanas, who rests her hand on Jaina’s ribcage, a few inches above the wound. For a moment, Jaina thinks that she will start apologizing profusely all over again. However, the fallen angel only bends downwards to press a kiss against the edge of the injury. And another, and another. Until she has kissed around the wound in its entirety, covering all that she can reach without risking to hurt Jaina. 

 

‘You’re sweet, Sylvanas,’ Jaina murmurs, before she truly realizes what she is saying. A small smile lights up the fallen angel’s face as she rights herself up and comes to lay besides Jaina again. ‘But -’ Jaina continues, taking a small amount of delight in how quickly Sylvanas’ ears perk up. ‘- you must let me return the favour.’ 

 

‘One kiss, then, just one.’ With those words, Sylvanas draws her nightshirt up to uncover her own scar, struck by Arthas, just like its mirror on Jaina’s body. 

 

Jaina leans closer, choosing to kiss where the scar is the deepest, pressing her lips warmly to Sylvanas’ cooler skin until she feels the muscles beneath the scar relax. Just one kiss. One very long kiss indeed. Before she wants to move away, Sylvanas suddenly tenses again, drawing up her shoulders and relaxing them in rapid succession. 

 

‘I’m sorry, Jaina,’ she says. ‘For some reason, perhaps because you are paying so much attention to them now, my scars are getting progressively more sensitive.’

 

With a chuckle, Jaina replies: ‘I’m neglecting the ones on your back. Turn around, let me get to them.’ 

 

To her surprise, Sylvanas does so, tugging her nightshirt off over her head. Jaina quickly looks away, her furious blush returning full force. When she slowly returns her gaze to Sylvans the fallen angel has shifted so she lies face-down on the bed. One of her ears twitches sluggishly as a small, lazy grin appears on her face. With a smile of her own, Jaina rolls over to her side, placing a hand in between Sylvanas’ shoulder blades and mouthing over the skin of her neck. Slowly progressing downwards, she draws back when her lips brush against something that is distinctly not Sylvanas’ skin. With a deep frown, she leans in closer again, quizzically staring at the tiny raised bumps between the deep indents of the wing scars. A few pinpricks of white show on the grey skin. Coming even closer, Jaina carefully pokes at one of them, discerning a few wisps of something that looks like small plucks of hair. Like a boy’s peach fuzz beard, but much more bunched together in miniscule groups. Then she reels backward all of a sudden, as the truth strikes her. 

 

Feathers. 

 

Tiny, white feathers. Only the very tops of them. When she relays the information to Sylvanas, the fallen angel jolts, sitting upright so quickly that she bumps into Jaina in her haste. ‘Sit still! Let me take a look at them,’ the human says, pressing her down to the mattress. 

 

Despite her grumbling, Sylvanas obeys and lets Jaina pluck at the feathers. With a tug that is perhaps a bit too forceful, she picks one off of the skin. Sylvanas yelps, her hand flying to her back to soothe the slight burn. Then she rolls onto her side and holds out her hand. When Jaina gives her the feather, which is no bigger than the nail of her pinkie finger, her red eyes widen in shock. 

 

‘This should not be possible…’ the fallen angel murmurs. ‘When Arthas cursed me with all of this -’ she gestures at her head, where her large, dark horns gleam in the low light of the room. ‘ - he also prevented me from healing my torn and burnt wings.’ 

 

‘A-accept it as a miracle?’ Jaina suggests, her voice coming out high and squeaky from surprise. 

 

Sylvanas, who is holding the feather up so the light frames its downy hairs along the central shaft, can only nod, her voice taken by her sheer astonishment. Jaina sees that small tears pearl in the corners of her eyes. Tears of relief and happiness. 

 

Neither her nor Jaina have heard the soft knock on the door a few seconds prior. They have also not seen that Vereesa had opened the door on the tiniest of cracks, before hastily shutting it and making her way down the hall as quickly as she can. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Xore for beta-reading!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter onwards, I will no longer update once a week. I'm going to try to update frequently, but there might be weeks that I don't upload at all. This is mostly due to me starting a study in composition on a conservatory, so I really need to put more time into composing music, since that has gone from a hobby to my actual study now. 
> 
> I hope you'll understand and that you'll keep reading and enjoying the story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whenever I write “quel’dorei”, just think “angel” instead. I chose to keep it in WoW terms because it would sound a bit clunky otherwise.

 

All of them have gathered in front of Windrunner Spire. 

 

Jaina stands to Sylvanas’ left, barely keeping herself from grasping her hand and squeezing it softly to provide the fallen angel with some comfort, since her mouth is fixed in a thin line and her brow is deeply furrowed. She is quiet when Alleria and Vereesa stand in front of them, grave looks on both their faces. The silence endures for longer than is truly comfortable, as Alleria sighs and shifts on her feet while Vereesa dons a frown identical to Sylvanas’. 

 

‘Yesterday evening, I was going to bring you fresh bandages and turn off the arcane lamp, Jaina.’ Vereesa begins. 

 

‘Oh! I actually managed to turn that off myself! Just snapped next to it a few times and it dimmed.’ Demonstratively snapping her fingers again, Jaina looks very pleased with herself. 

 

Vereesa’s eyebrows shoot up so quickly that it almost looks as if they fly off her face. ‘Well… Sylvanas already said that you seem to have an affinity for the arcane. It’s very rare for humans but not completely unheard of. Regardless… I am terribly sorry for overhearing you and Sylvanas -’

 

‘Ah, eavesdropping, a skill of little sisters,’ Sylvanas mutters under her breath, minutely flexing her shoulders because her new feathers rub ever so slightly against the fabric. The skin around them feels considerably more sore than the evening prior. 

 

Vereesa tries to ignore her sister’s stinging comment, though a slight blush rises to her cheeks. ‘- but from what I heard, Sylvanas… you are getting your wings back.’

 

‘I’m not sure how far they will grow. The Lich King’s curses have not been broken yet.’ With a deep breath, the fallen angel lets go of Jaina’s hand and crosses her arms. She huffs, glancing to the side for a split second. When Jaina gives her a small smile and an encouraging nod, she continues: ‘Save for this one, apparently, though I can’t fathom why, since I failed to kill him.’ 

 

‘You said you had stabbed him in the knee, practically crippling him until he can get his hands on a necromancer strong enough to heal that.’ Alleria steps forward, a somewhat disinterested scowl on her face. She scratches at the grass growing around the Spire with the point of one of her boots for a moment, before clearing her throat and putting on what Sylvanas assumes to be her best official, haughty Quel’dorei voice. ‘You've done something good in the face of a great evil. An act worthy of a Quel’dorei. Thus you appear to have broken one, or some of the curses you were stuck wi - that had been placed on you.’

 

The tone of her voice, bristling with barely concealed anger, does not match her words. Yet it makes sense that she, as the eldest sister, would make such an announcement. ‘Our plan was to take you to the Regent Lord, so you could atone for what you have done to Quel’thalas. But after a lot of debate, last night, debate which Vereesa initiated after she heard about your… feathery bits, -’ Jaina’s slight laughter made Alleria shoot a glare in her direction, but it wasn’t a particularly vicious one, as she reserved that for Sylvanas. ‘Essentially, because Vereesa accidentally overheard you two starting to get sappy over the feathers, we have decided to set you free.’ 

 

With those words, Alleria waves her hand in a semicircle through the air, collecting the energy that had wound itself around Sylvanas’ ankle in the palm of her hand, before closing her fist and extinguishing it. For Sylvanas, it feels as if a weight is lifted from her chest. And from her tail too, as it relaxes and swings from side to side, prompting another giggle from Jaina. Her giggles are admittedly adorable, and Sylvanas is willing to suffer the slight humiliation to hear them. 

 

‘Well, you are probably going to go after him again. Try not to nearly kill Jaina again, this time.’ After having said that, and not adding a goodbye or as much as a little nod, Alleria unfolds her wings and flies up and around the Spire with a few powerful wing strokes, disappearing from sight. When Sylvanas hears the rush of the wind around her sister’s wings, she feels the muscles of her shoulders and back twitch in memory of her own. The small feathers that now grow in between are raised slightly when goosebumps spread over her skin. 

 

‘I’m sorry for her behaviour,’ Vereesa says as she walks closer to Jaina and Sylvanas, dropping her stiff stance in favour of a sheepish grin. ‘She’s been… touchy about setting you free ever since I brought up the recent… developments.’ 

 

‘Of course, she doesn’t want to let me go. She wants to drag me to Lor’themar and hopes that he will imprison me. Perhaps wrongfully so, since I don’t want to hunt down Arthas again. Not yet.’ 

 

‘You’re going back to Dalaran, with Jaina?’ Vereesa’s grin becomes a bit more genuine as she looks at the human woman. 

 

Enthusiastically nodding, Jaina smiled brightly. ‘Yes! We are. But… how do you know about Dalaran?’ 

 

‘I used to live there. I was one of the Quel’dorei wardens that protected the bridges between the realms, in Dalaran, until most of them were moved to Stratholme.’ After a few moments, Vereesa grimly adds, with a bitter expression that doesn’t fit her normally soft face. ‘We all know how that went.’ 

 

‘I found an old bridge and used it to escape from Icecrown Citadel to Dalaran,’ Sylvanas quietly interjects. ‘You should make sure that all of them are defunct, next time. I see that Quel’thalas has gotten lousy with its security after my… departure, as Ranger-General.’   

 

‘And apparently _you_ have gotten lousy as well, not even giving Jaina a weapon to defend herself.’ Vereesa bristles, her feathered wings shuddering along with her body, fanning out a bit before neatly folding on her back again. The way she subtly pinches her eyebrows together and takes a quick little breath before speaking again is so much like how Sylvanas did it. In that mannerism, Jaina can see that they truly are sisters, despite the fact that their hardships had made their appearances to different. ‘You’re going to go after the Lich King again. I know it! I know… I know _you_.’ 

 

‘Not now, not yet,’ Sylvanas says. ‘Jaina and I need, and want, some time… together. But eventually, yes, I will need to face him again. I cannot stay cursed forever. Especially not now Jaina knows how I used to look, once.’ 

 

Nodding vigorously, Jaina adds: ‘Marvellous.’ 

 

A small smile twitches around the corners of Sylvanas’ mouth. The fallen angel looks her sister in the eyes, red meeting silvery blue. It seems as if she wants to say something, but hesitates. Having done so for too long, Sylvanas can’t speak before Vereesa does. 

 

‘Well then, when you face him again, inform us. We will assist you.’ When Sylvanas wants to interject and protest, Vereesa brings up a hand, silencing her before spreading her arms and tilting the palms of her hands upwards. She takes a deep breath and whispers an incantation, after which the air above her hands begins to shimmer with blue energy. Slowly, the sparkles gather into streams of arcane, which then shape themselves to form a long, horizontal shape with a larger, oval part in Vereesa’s right hand. Jaina gasps as she sees how the glowing energy solidifies. In Vereesa’s hands lays a large staff, topped with a brilliant blue crystal, where a light shines from within. Curling around the gem are four golden swirls, securing it in place. The shaft is made of light brown wood, with a wrap of blue leather in the middle that acts as a grip. On the bottom, a golden anchor encircles another blue crystal, softly glowing just like the larger one on the other side. 

 

‘I thought that this would fit you, Jaina. Sylvanas told Alleria and me a lot about you, your family and the things you have undertaken with my sister. If you ever go after Arthas again, and I assume that you will assist Sylvanas when the time comes, given the things I overheard yesterday, use this to stay safe.’After pausing and taking a deep breath, Vereesa holds out her arms and beckons Jaina to take the staff from her. ‘Keep my sister safe, please.’ 

 

‘How touching,’ Sylvanas mumbles, but Jaina can hear her voice waver with emotion. ‘That staff has been gathering dust in the family vault ever since our mother brought it with her when she returned from a mission, in your world of all places.’ 

 

‘It has, I thought it was good to give it a purpose now,’ Vereesa says as Jaina tests the staff, finding it to be surprisingly light despite the heavy-looking crystals. She can even feel a kind of energy, cold but not chilling, tingle in her palms when she touches it. Sylvanas looks on with a kind of pride, feeling warm things that she doesn’t want to define further bloom in her chest. She also jolts in surprise when the largest crystal glows a brighter blue as Jaina experimentally waves the staff through the air. A small spark travels from the gem to her hand, causing her to let go of a small, slightly startled cry. 

 

Laughing, Vereesa searches for her sister’s eyes. ‘Sylvanas, perhaps you can teach Jaina you how to use it? Since you said that she is sensitive to the arcane. Which by all means seems to be true.’ 

 

Still looking at her lover, Sylvanas can only nod slowly. ‘I will.’ 

 

‘This is also for you, Jaina.’ Walking up to the brightly laughing woman and giggling as another spark of arcane travels from the staff to the pluck of blonde hair on Jaina’s head, Vereesa hands her a slip of paper. 

 

Jaina’s eyebrows rise in surprise as she takes it, holding the staff next to her in her left hand, as any mage would do. She seems to be a prodigy of sorts. ‘This is… a phone number?’ 

 

Nodding, Vereesa says: ‘I will have to search for the phone itself in the vault, but yes. A leftover from my time in your realm. I am sure it will come in handy one day. If you have any inquiries about the arcane, you can always call me.’ 

 

‘And you have a signal, here? In Quel’thalas?’ 

 

‘Let’s say that I tinkered with the phone a bit. Arcane magic has many… curious uses. And even though we are not gnomes, and I have personally never ventured into their realm, we are not completely blind to your technology.’ 

 

‘You nearly blew it up several times. Honestly, neither Alleria nor me knew that you had a destructive streak too,’ Sylvanas says, snorting softly and surprising herself by doing so. Vereesa lets go of an identical giggle, before softly shaking her head. 

 

‘You and Alleria must have infected me then,’ she says while shooting a conspirative look in Jaina’s direction. A look that says “I know my sister can make a mess of things and I’m sure you know too.” A look with which she essentially officially declares Jaina to be part of the family. ‘Regardless… I think we will speak to each other soon enough. There is a bridge on the second floor of the Spire. You can use that to get to Dalaran again. Since Alleria flew off, and I will talk to her later about being so crude, I will help the both of to get you up there.’    

 

For a few moments, Sylvanas had forgotten than there was only one staircase in the Spire, which led from the living room to the first floor. She sighs deeply and prepares herself for the humiliation of having to be carried in flight by her sister. 

 

~~~~~

 

Sylvanas had decided to discard her shirt the very moment that Jaina had locked the door of their apartment. Yes, it’s _their_ apartment now, they had decided on the walk from the back alley where the bridge had dropped them, to the safety of Jaina’s flat. On said walk, the fallen angel had already been complaining that her feathers were steadily growing and constantly brushed against her shirt, shifting and irritating her skin. Thus she had hastily removed it and thrown it onto their bed as soon as she’d entered the house. Miraculously, she had avoided tearing it on her horns. 

 

Jaina knows that it should not make her blush quite so badly, seeing her new partner, her lover, walk around the apartment in her pants and a sports bra. And yet it does, especially when Sylvanas comes to stand next to her in the kitchen while Jaina fills two bowls with a generous amount of ice cream. She does not miss the way her tail does a sharp _flick_ when the fallen angel spots the dessert, exactly in time with her ears, which perk up rapidly. 

 

Their routine from the kitchen to the couch, a series of movements that they are both accustomed to, from grabbing the toxic green fleece blanket to share, for the first time, to setting the tray with ice cream and tea on the coffee table which they have placed in front of the couch, is paired with a lot of giggles and sly looks. Jaina feels admittedly light headed with joy and infatuation when she flops onto the plush seating of the turquoise couch and shows Sylvanas the dvd that she put into the tv. ‘I wanted to watch this one with you,’ she says, pointing at the cover. ‘Reminds me a lot of you… of us, of our stories, our lives. But mostly yours. I think you’ll like it a lot. There’s a sequel coming out too, this autumn.’ 

 

‘A horned woman,’ Sylvanas observes while carefully taking the dvd cover from Jaina. ‘How original.’ 

 

‘She has wings too… sorry for the spoiler.’ 

 

Sylvanas hums softly, not seeming too bothered. From the way she pulls her legs up on the couch, mercifully retracting her claws, and covers both her own and Jaina’s legs with the blanket, Jaina can tell that she will enjoy their cuddling more than the actual movie. When the movie’s main character files around her fairy land, Sylvanas comments that flying on updrafts really doesn’t work like that and that her wings are portrayed as far too stiff. She says that in flight, she can feel every individual feather as the wind brushes over them. The longer the movie plays, the less believable it looks to Jaina. Still, they both wince when the fairy gets brutally injured. 

 

Sylvanas lays a protective hand on Jaina’s healing wound, leaning sideways and slowly lowering herself onto the human woman’s legs with her torso. She swings her legs over the armrest of the couch and lets go of a soft purr when Jaina pets the wispy blonde hair in between her horns, softly scratching the scalp and coaxing more delighted trills from the fallen angel. When the princess of the movie and her sweetly smiling, oblivious, oddly important prince lock lips, Sylvanas tugs on Jaina’s sleeve. ‘Kiss me, it is better than watching this,’ she says, dragging Jaina down to meet her lips. 

 

Their kiss lasts much longer than the one in the movie. Jaina is one hundred percent certain that it’s much more satisfying too. Sylvanas’ lips feel like silk against her own, opening to deepen the kiss, yet not far enough for her sharp fangs to do any harm. No, the former Quel’dorei is so, so very careful. She knows how strong she is, how easy it would be to cut Jaina’s lips with her fangs and how hard her horns would be if she were to sit up too quickly and accidentally headbutt Jaina. Her soft human lover deserves only the most delicate, the absolute warmest treatment. 

 

They are interrupted when a blast of harsh brass in the film’s soundtrack suddenly signals the beginning of the climactic final battle. Sylvanas, who seems mildly interested in the clashing of swords and the greenish magic flaring throughout the scene, turns her head in the direction of the screen, causing Jaina’s last kiss to land on her ear instead. Immediately, it twitches, then goes slack, laxly flopping alongside her skull. Jaina, who has seen the movie half a dozen times already, has the freedom to play with it until the credits roll.   
  
After Jaina has turned off the tv, Sylvanas reclaims her position on the human’s lap, sitting upright, pressing their bodies together and sprinkling little kisses onto Jaina’s forehead. Then she suddenly jolts, hastily slides off Jaina’s lap and grasps at the skin in between her shoulder blades. When she shows her hand to Jaina, a few feathers and drops of blood stain her fingertips. The feathers look noticeably greyer than they had been in Windrunner Spire. But they are also larger and more developed, no longer just downy plucks. The blood worries Jaina, though. However, she remains positive, suggesting to Sylvanas that her body might simply need some time to develop her new wings. 

 

Sylvanas nods, seemingly satisfied and reassured by that thought. She walks to the kitchen to wash her hands and suggests to Jaina that they could treat each other’s wounds, replace Jaina’s bandages and continue cuddling under the warm blankets. Enthusiastically nodding, Jaina feels her heart flutter in her chest when she thinks of the prospect. Tides, she had forgotten how it feels to be in love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie they're watching is the 2014 sleeping beauty reimagining Maleficent! There's a reason for that, which I'll explain in this fun little story about the history and origins of Ashen Wings: 
> 
> When I had just joined the sylvaina fandom, before I started writing AW, I had the idea to write two sylvaina stories: a demon/angel au and a retelling of the movie Maleficent but with sylvanas and jaina instead. After some time these two ideas merged, creating a story about a demon!sylvanas who needed to regain her wings. Thus Ashen Wings was born. 
> 
> In the fic there are perhaps more references to Maleficent than you'd think at first glance. Apart from my blatantly writing the movie into the plot here, I also referenced the golden fiery magic of the final battle of the movie in Sylvanas' first battle against Arthas, where she literally gets wings of golden fire. I have a few more ideas for these kind of references :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to Xore and KatzenJammers for beta reading and saving my ass on a few details in this fic!!

****It is still night when Jaina awakens. Her alarm hasn’t gone off, strangely. Her work isn’t waiting for her just yet. Quite honestly, she doesn’t know why she is awake, since she is still tired from all that happened the evening prior. Sylvanas is asleep, her cooler body softly moving with deep, heavy breaths, lying so tightly against her.

 

Then she feels it. A cold thing, slithering around her ankles. Jaina screeches, kicking struggling to get away from whatever it is. Disoriented as she is in her sleep-addled state, her foot gets caught in the blanket and she throws herself off of the bed, landing hard on the cold floor. On the bed, Sylvanas perks up, woken by being having the blankets pulled off of her. With a soft “ _hrrm?_ ” she peers over the edge of the bed, where Jaina lies on the ground, disgruntled and getting cold. Her ears slowly flick, slumping by the sides of her head as she clearly isn’t fully awake yet. ‘What’s wrong, Jaina?’ 

 

‘Something’s under the blanket. I felt it moving around my ankles.’

 

The fallen angel lifts the sheet, quizzically looking around for anything that might have startled Jaina so. With a sigh, Jaina flicks on the nightstand lamp and sits down onto the mattress. 

 

‘There’s nothing here, Jaina,’ Sylvanas says, carefully covering them both with the sheets. ‘Unless… you felt this?’ 

 

The same cold, nearly silky thing pokes against the sole of Jaina’s left foot. She jerks, flipping the blanket off of her legs and hastily sitting upright, scrambling away from the foot end of the bed. Sylvanas huffs and folds the blanket further back, so her legs are bared too. She moves her tail back and forth, softly slapping it against the mattress, and against Jaina’s toes. ‘I think it likes you,’ she purrs.   

 

‘ _Don’t_ do that again,’ Jaina hisses. 

 

With a lazy smile, Sylvanas stretches out on the mattress, languidly stretching her muscles. She reminds Jaina so much of a large, grey cat who is way too comfortable for her own good. Especially with how she snuggles up against Jaina and says: ‘I told you before; I can’t control it completely. It might just seek out your warmth again.’ 

 

‘Well, warn me next time or I might just pull on it.’ Jaina’s words carry much less annoyance than she meant to, especially when Sylvanas wraps her arms around her and rests her hands just above the edge of her bandage, on her back. ‘Now go to sleep. I need to go to work tomorrow, so I want some good rest.’ 

 

The next morning, when Jaina is walking down the street, on her way to the Kirin Tor offices, she feels strangely empty. Not that it’s so odd to feel that way, since she and Sylvanas had practically been attached to each other’s hip for the last week or so. Still, it bothers her more than she wants to admit. For one, she does not want to feel so lovesick again, since it only makes her think about her time with Arthas. _Arthas_. The nearly healed wound on her stomach stings at the thought of his name, her fingernails dig deep into the shoulder strap of her laptop bag. Shaking her head, she attempts to forget about it. Sylvanas promised that she wouldn’t go after Arthas until they were both well prepared, after all. 

 

~~~~~

 

With Jaina gone to work, Sylvanas had slowly made her way out of bed, taken a long, warm shower and settled on the couch with a book from Jaina’s collection. She takes a sip of coffee, another habit of Jaina’s that she has taken over, seemingly without noticing. It feels odd to be alone in the house. It’s nearly as if the place is too quiet now. No loud human footsteps, no clattering pans and plates in the kitchen, no ticking of Jaina’s fingers on her computer, no soft breathing next to her in the bed. 

 

Sylvanas stares at her opened book without truly reading anything. A small jolt of pain runs up and down the backs of her shoulders, causing her to wince and shift on the couch. Ever since her feathers had begun to grow again, the itching of her scars had transformed into pricks of pain on the skin. Sometimes there were small drops of blood, pearling at the places where the feathers grew from her skin. With a sigh, Sylvanas leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, holding the book in front of her. Now her back does not touch the cushions of the couch and the pain is easier to ignore. After all, what she felt when her wings burned and were torn off was far, far worse. 

 

Her reading is disturbed again when the phone rings. _Her_ phone. The old thing that Jaina gave to her for safety purposes, months ago. It seems like forever ago that Jaina called her from work, to inform her that she would be home late. The morning after that she had gotten ill, postponing their journey to Boralus… and all that had followed. With a grunt, the fallen angel gets up from the admittedly comfy couch and walks to the table to retrieve the phone. Perhaps Jaina is calling, hopefully to tell that she is home earlier than usual, this time. But alas, Sylvanas reads “Vereesa” on the small screen. _Ah_ , Sylvanas thinks, _Jaina must have added her to my device, as well as to her own._

 

‘Sister mine,’ she says, after carefully pressing the green button. 

 

‘Wrong sister.’ Alleria’s voice is harsh and grating as it assaults Sylvanas’ ears through the phone. ‘Don’t talk. I can’t stand your voice now. I have to say some things to you, so be quiet.’ 

 

~~~~~

 

‘Sylvanas! I’m home!’ Jaina cheerily calls out as she closes the door behind her. It feels so good to have someone to say that to. ‘Oof, it’s cold here. Didn’t I show you how the central heating system works?’ 

 

Despite the chill, she hangs her coat on the rack and puts her shoes beneath it. ‘Sylvanas? Where are you?’ 

 

Though worry seeps into her voice, she tries her best not to get suspicious immediately. Perhaps the fallen angel is just relaxing on the couch with her borrowed earbuds, not stolen from Jaina, obviously, plugged soundly into her ears. She has taken a big liking to those. 

 

Then she sees that the bedroom door is opened on a small crack, with what looks like a sock lying on the doorstep. That most certainly hadn’t been there when she left the house. Jaina pushes the door open further. Sure enough, there is Sylvanas, lying on her side in the bed. Her silvery-blonde hair is spread out over the pillow in a messy tangle. Yet what surprises Jaina most is the pale skin of her hand, clutching the pillow tightly, and the short, round ears that show in between the strands of her hair. 

 

‘Hey there,’ she says, kneeling beside the bed and trying to make out anything of Sylvanas’ face. In vain, since it’s pressed into the pillow. ‘Who’s that woman in my bed? Where are the horns and the long ears?’ 

 

An incoherent mumble is Sylvanas’ response, muffled by the pillow. After a few seconds, when she senses that Jaina isn’t going to move away from the bed, she lifts her head slightly and stares into Jaina’s eyes with her own bleary, silver-blue, reddened ones. She has been crying. Jaina feels concern rise in her chest as she shifts closer and runs a hand through Sylvanas’ tangled tresses. ‘What happened?’ she softly asks.

 

Sylvanas only gestures vaguely to the phone, lying on the nightstand beside the bed. A quick look on the device shows that she had a 40 minute call with Vereesa. When Jaina is about to ask what her sister said that made her so sad, since they seemed to get along quite well in Quel’thalas, Sylvanas sits upright in the bed. She wipes her sore eyes a few times, then says in a gravelly voice: ‘It was Alleria, not Vereesa. She… she said that what happened in Icecrown-’ 

 

Before the fallen angel can pain herself by repeating the entirety of her undoubtedly hurtful conversation, Jaina shakes her head. ‘She had a long rant about that you could have prevented everything? Exactly like what she said in your homeland? And did you say that everything happened as it did and that trying to figure out if you could have changed it won’t help?’ 

 

‘I didn’t. It’s hard to interrupt Alleria when she gets started,’ Sylvanas croaks. ‘Alleria wasn’t always so bitter. In a way, I wanted to give her the opportunity to speak out… what she didn’t do at Windrunner Spire, so I thought it might help if I just let her talk.’ 

 

‘But that only made it worse. I understand. You two need to talk face to face, figure things out like I did with my mother.’ Jaina gets up from her kneeling position on the floor, sitting down on the mattress instead. Slowly, Sylvanas reaches out for her hand, rubbing over her knuckles with a rough fingertip. A small smile appears on Jaina’s face. ‘You’re brave, Sylvanas. Incredibly brave, to go out there and face Arthas. You would have gone on your own, if I hadn’t insisted to come along. And, be honest, what good could I have done? Even if I’d had a weapon, I wouldn’t have known how to use it. Probably would’ve cut my own hand or something.’ 

Softly chuckling, Jaina’s chest floods with relief when she sees a tiny smile break through on Sylvanas’ face as well. The fallen angel squeezes their entwined hands softly, before letting go and clearing her throat. She folds her hands together and leans forward, frowning deeply while red light bleeds into her eyes. The familiar thrum of energy surges through the room. Yet this time, Jaina can sense it much more acutely than before. It used to be a faint pulse of magic, emanating from Sylvanas’ form when her human disguise melted away and revealed the grey skin, horns, beautiful long ears and red eyes of her true form. Now, it’s a clear stream of power, than she can trace as it sparks to life within Sylvanas. Starting deep in her chest, where her heart sits, it follows clear paths along her torso and limbs, like veins underneath her skin. 

 

The magic tingles pleasantly on Jaina’s skin, lingering there, as if it wants to sink in and make its home in her body. When she rubs her fingers together, a small spark of blue flicks through the space between her index finger and her thumb, eliciting a surprised sound. Sylvanas cocks her head, curiously looking on as Jaina snaps her fingers again, to try to replicate the effect. ‘I’ll teach you how to do that properly,’ she says. ‘I promised Vereesa, after all.’ 

 

‘I can hardly wait!’ Beaming, Jaina stands up from the bed. ‘And you know what? Go wash up, I’ll order some delivery for us both. I used to do that when I was really sad… and really alone.’ 

 

Sylvanas’ wispy eyebrows rise up high. ‘Delivery?’ 

 

‘I will… order food. Very good, comforting food. It will help, trust me!’ Hopping up on her tiptoes, Jaina presses a soft kiss onto Sylvanas’ lips, quick but sweet. As she walks back to the front door to pick up her laptop bag, she suddenly laughs loudly when another advantage of delivery food strikes her. She calls after Sylvanas, who disappears into the bathroom for a long, hot shower. ‘Besides, it’s better than anything I can cook!’ 

 

~~~~~

 

Admittedly, yes, the food is better, far better, than the things Jaina cooks up. Sylvanas’ lover, as she hesitatingly calls the human woman now, has ordered a large variety of different dishes, from the eastern lands of her world. Neatly arranged on the table are boxes with steaming rice, roasted strips of spicy pork, steamed vegetables, chicken in sweet-sour sauce and soft, steamed buns with savoury fillings. There are snacks too. Shrimps, encrusted with a deep-fried, golden layer of dough lay on a plate next to a small tower of tiny spring rolls. The sheer smell of the dishes makes Sylvanas’ mouth water. After piling several different things onto her place, she leans back in her chair. ‘Did anyone at your work say something about your hair? It’s quite the change, I hope you didn’t get into trouble.’ 

  
  


‘I told Modera that I dyed my hair to be more like her and Khadgar. Completely grey, the both of them. It got a laugh out of them, so I think they’re convinced that I thought it would be fun to dye all of my hair except one lock, apparently.’ Jaina says, softly laughing at the large amount of food that Sylvanas grabbed, while pouring two glasses of water for Sylvanas and herself. ‘Careful that you don’t spill anything. Would you like some nice music?’ 

 

With her mouth full of rice and chicken, Sylvanas can only nod enthusiastically, following Jaina with her eyes as she walks to the CD player and begins sifting through the stack on top of it. Frowning, sometimes shaking her head in a definitive “no” gesture and laughing softly to herself a few times, she eventually picks a disk. ‘This is Aria of the Dark,’ she clarifies. ‘It’s a great opera. There was a really good production in the opera house, last winter. I treated myself to a ticket, as a holiday present for myself.’  

 

As the music starts playing, a layered, dark opening song, Jaina sits down too, scooping a generous helping of rice onto her plate and picking a spring roll from the pile. She glances at Sylvanas, eyebrows updrawn in the silent question. The fallen angel nods in her own silent answer. Yes, she is feeling better. A lot better. Alleria and her angry rants, a quality she always possessed, even when they were children, can wait until she has taught Jaina the mysterious art of the arcane. Then, she will figure out a plan to take down Arthas for good. 

 

Briefly, Sylvanas thinks about her dark rangers. They are far too valuable to Arthas to kill, even in his rage. And they are strong, she tells herself. Strong Quel’dorei, like she is too. They can survive for a few more months, then she will save them. Because, even though she is not strong enough to do anything of the sort now, nor does she have a solid plan that does not involve ice spikes or over-reliance on her returning powers, she will not break the promise she made to her rangers. 

 

Much later, when the music is approaching its epic, bombastic finale and Jaina is softly humming along, Sylvanas grabs the last deep-fried shrimp and throws it into her mouth, slyly grinning at Jaina, who grumbles good-naturedly and rolls her eyes. ‘Of course, go ahead. You need it to grow anything more than some downy plucks on your back.’ 

 

Sylvanas’ lips split into a full smile at that. ‘Is there ice cream?’ she asks with poorly concealed hunger. 

 

~~~~~

 

Once again, it’s past midnight when Jaina wakes up. Though this time, it’s not because Sylvanas’ tail is curling around her ankles. She fell asleep with the fallen angel’s arms wrapped tightly around her, listening to the being’s slow, deep breaths and feeling the heartbeat in her chest. Yet now, the bed is empty and cold, the blankets lying on the floor, seemingly forgotten. 

 

 _Sylvanas must’ve gone to the toilet_ , Jaina thinks, slowly peeling herself from the bed and rubbing over her arms to try to prevent losing any more bodily warmth. She reaches for the blanket on the floor, pulling it onto the mattress again and wondering why the fallen angel threw it off of her. Sighing, she shakes her head, thinking: _Sylvanas must’ve gone to the toilet in a hurry._

 

Then she feels an odd wet spot on the fabric of the blanket. She looks down at her fingers. Where they touch the blanket, they are darkened. With a shock, Jaina reaches for the nightstand lamp. 

 

Blood. 

 

There is blood staining her fingers. Blood on the blanket in large flecks. Blood on the floor, splattered on the cheap plastic. Blood on the doorframe in the vague shape of streaks, drawn by shaky fingers. 

 

Jaina jumps out of the bed, her heart in her throat. Has Arthas found them? Have they killed Sylvanas in her sleep and dragged her off to Gods know where? As she sprints out of the bedroom, she sees a veritable trail of blood, footsteps and splatters, snaking through the hallway, into the bathroom. 

 

On shaky legs, she follows it, unprepared for whatever she will find there. Her heart thunders in her ears, but she attempts to swallow away her fear. She can’t, not before she reaches the bathroom door and sees what’s inside. 

 

Sylvanas lays in a pool of blood, one arm slung over the rim of the bathtub in a failed attempt to pull herself into it, before she had collapsed. Her eyes are closed, her head limp on the floor. Around her lies a shredded piece of fabric that Jaina can barely recognize as being Sylvanas’ borrowed pyjama shirt, completely torn and soaked through with blood. Between Sylvanas’ shoulder blades, the upper parts of her long scars are split open, the grey skin parting around the dark red flesh underneath. Bloodied feathers, both soiled white and odd grey ones that are seemingly in the process of deterioration, litter the floor. 

 

A shrill, wordless cry leaves Jaina’s mouth as she runs forward. As she drops to her knees, reaching out for Sylvanas’ limp arm and shaking her, the fallen angel takes a deep, wheezing breath. She hacks blood, spitting it out to join the rest on the floor. In the deep wounds on her back, more than just blood glints in the harsh light of the bathroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aria for the Dark is a fic by my friend SilverWolf, with whom I've done a fun little... reference exchange. Ashen Wings will be mentioned in Aria for the Dark, and the other way around. Please give the fic a read! It's a phantom of the opera sylvaina AU and it's really good! 
> 
> Also, I gave you fluff, don't complain about the angst ;)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been on my mind since I started writing the fic, perhaps even before that. The image of the wings growing out of Sylvanas' back has stuck with me throughout the writing of this fic.

‘Sylvanas! Oh god, Sylvanas, please… say something!’ 

 

Jaina panics, shaking Sylvanas by the shoulder, her fingers slipping on the blood that coats her lover’s skin. The fallen angel groans weakly, stirring and looking at Jaina with bleary eyes. Eyes that are full of pain and confusion. She grasps the cold edge of the tub with a shaky hand, trying to pull herself up, yet only succeeding to twist her body and fall sideways, very nearly bashing the side of her head into the ceramic. Jaina carefully sinks to one knee in front of her. She moves her arms to support Sylvanas underneath her armpits, so Sylvanas can lean forward and grasp the fabric of her pyjama shirt tightly. Shuffling backwards, Jaina succeeds in standing up. Thought the fallen angel is heavy, resting nearly all of her weight onto Jaina, she can eventually set Sylvanas down on the edge of the bathtub. The stubborn woman draws both her legs into the tub herself, smearing bloody footprints over the edges when she shivers and very nearly falls off, if not for Jaina’s support. 

 

‘What is happening to you?’ Jaina asks, lifting Sylvanas’ chin with one hand, so she can look into her eyes and make sure that she isn’t passing out, or worse. 

 

‘I don’t know,’ Sylvanas whispers. ‘I… I woke up with blood… everywhere.’ 

 

‘Sit still. I’m going to call Vereesa. She will know what to do, I hope.’ After commanding Sylvanas so, Jaina rushes out of the bathroom, barely avoiding stepping in the bloody smears in the hallway.  _ Vereesa must know what is going on,  _ she tells herself.  _ She’s a Quel’dorei too, she has to know something about why… why Sylvanas’ scars are splitting open, why she is shedding feathers everywhere, why her wings…  _

 

Her wings. Something is amiss with her wings. She should have seen this coming when she discovered the blood on Sylvanas’ back, when they were still staying in Windrunner Spire. Jaina fumbles with her phone as she hurries back to the bathroom. Her hands are so shaky, and still stained with blood, that she can barely keep a hold on the device. She manages to find Vereesa’s number, though, after a lot of difficulty. Her fingers, bloodied as they are, slip off the touchscreen at least three times before she can tap on the right apps. As she waits for the Quel’dorei to answer, dreading every bleep of her phone that makes her breath race faster, she turns on the tap in the bath with one hand, setting it on a pleasantly warm temperature. Sylvanas takes a handful of water, first rinsing her bloody palm, then carefully pouring another handful on her back, wincing and softly groaning in pain as it hits her open wounds. With every scoop of water, more blood washes into the drain, baring something white in between the red of her flesh.  

 

With one hand, Jaina catches some water and gently washes the blood off of Sylvanas’ back, underneath where her scars are opened. She wonders whether Vereesa will answer her call at all. Would it be night in Quel’thalas too? How do time zones work between realms? She has to ask it to Sylvanas or her sister, at a less dire moment. 

 

‘Jaina? Is everything alright?’ Vereesa’s sleepy voice sounds through the phone. She coughs softly, clearing her throat. She was most certainly sleeping before Jaina called her. 

 

‘No, everything’s not alright. Sorry for the wake-up call but -’ Jaina takes a deep breath, softly squeezing Sylvanas’ tensed shoulder as the fallen angel tries to curl in on herself, sitting quite miserably underneath the slowly running tap. Her breath is shuddering, but at least it’s not so faint anymore. She still looks ready to pass out at any given moment. ‘- Sylvanas’ scars… from her wings, they’re - it looks like they’re bursting open!’ 

 

‘Like her wings are growing out?’ There is a lot of shuffling on the other side of the line, as Vereesa most likely either sits upright in bed or gets out of the bed entirely. It appears to be the latter, since Jaina hears her footsteps on the floor of Windrunner Spire a few moments later. 

 

‘That’s what I’m hoping. We’ve been hoping that… that there was away to regain her wings for so long. But if it’s this painful…’ 

 

‘When a Quel’dorei - and by extension our next of kin, the Kaldorei and Shal’dorei too - gets their fully-formed wings, the process is normally less than pleasant, Jaina. Think of it like teething, but we’re old enough to remember it,’ Vereesa says, opening and closing what sounds like a heavy door. ‘I just went outside, to the terrace, since I don’t want to wake up Alleria. Anyways… until we are six years of age, we have underdeveloped wings, featherless, seemingly too small for our bodies. They grow rapidly in size and gain feathers somewhere between our sixth and eighth year. To say that the process is unpleasant is… well, an understatement. If Sylvanas is truly going through this again, I for one pity her.’ 

 

Pity is the right word for it. Jaina deeply pities Sylvanas as well, who has drawn her knees up to her chest and rests her forehead on top of them . ‘Is there anything that helps with the pain?’ she asks Vereesa. 

 

‘All relief is temporary, when your bones grow from stubs the size of your forearm to fully functional wings,’ the youngest Windrunner sister answers with a sad laugh. ‘My mother, Lireesa Windrunner, provided me with some sort of arcane ice. It didn’t melt and it was very hard to break as well. I held the chunks against my back, or rather, Sylvanas and Alleria did so, for the days that the growing process lasted. It will be a bit different for Sylvanas, since her wings were… well, torn off completely -’ Even through the phone, Jaina can nearly feel Vereesa cringe at those words. She even thinks to hear a rustle of feathers, as Vereesa shivers. ‘It wouldn’t be a very good idea to bandage her wounds, since the wings will grow out of them. But something cold would help a lot, I think. Such as the arcane ice that I had.’ 

 

Arcane ice. Well, that’s definitely out of the question for Jaina. Still, she thanks Vereesa from the bottom of her heart, promising that she will come up with a suitable replacement. 

 

‘It’s important that you watch over her, Jaina,’ Vereesa stresses. ‘This time is one of the most vulnerable moments for any Quel’dorei. She will be dazed, in pain, tired and so fragile. Please, care well for my sister.’ Her voice breaks a little at the end, and as if she can sense her sister’s distress, Sylvanas rights herself up a little bit in the tub. 

 

Jaina catches the look Sylvanas gives her. Her red eyes are teary, light pinkish water swirls around her feet. Her right hand rests shakily on the edge of the bathtub. 

 

‘I will protect her, Vereesa. Don’t worry,’ Jaina assures the younger Windrunner, deliberately looking at Sylvanas and thus ensuring that the feelings are conveyed from one sister to the other. 

 

A relieved sigh sounds from the other side of the phone. ‘I cannot thank you enough, Jaina. Our family has been through so much already… thank you for caring for Sylvanas.’ 

 

‘It would have been a lot harder without your aid, Vereesa. I’m no expert in your people, after all. Honestly, thank you too. I’ll call you back once things have calmed down here and Sylvanas is doing better.’ 

 

‘Yes… Alright, I hope that will be soon.’ After those words, Vereesa ends the call. The last thing Jaina hears from her is a sad little sigh. 

 

She puts her phone on the sink and turns back to Sylvanas. The fallen angel is still sitting underneath the warm tap, now completely soaked through from her hair to her pyjama pants. The blood is mostly washed off of her skin, finally giving Jaina a clear look at the split scars. Two white knobs now show in the wounds. They had definitely not been there when Sylvanas had passed out on the floor. 

 

For the first time since seeing the extent of her own injuries after waking up in Windrunner Spire, Jaina feels slightly sick in the stomach when she looks at Sylvanas’ back. There are literal bones growing out of her wounds, which in and of itself make Jaina wonder where she has gotten herself into. It has been a long time since she has thought that. Reaching into the cabinet underneath the sink, she grabs the softest towel she has, turns off the shower and gently starts patting Sylvanas’ skin dry, avoiding the wounds with utmost care. 

 

‘Can you stand, Sylvanas?’ she asks softly, massaging her lover’s trembling arms with slow strokes. 

 

‘I will try.’ The fallen angel nods, reaching for Jaina’s shoulders and pulling herself upright, tensing and cringing as she leans heavily on the human while stepping out of the tub. Slowly, ever so slowly, she and Jaina make their way towards the bedroom, where Jaina sets Sylvanas down onto the bed. Then she quickly starts removing the slightly bloodied sheets and grabbing a fresh set. She is surprised by how relatively little blood there is on the bed itself. Most of the blood in the hallway and bathroom has to be half dry by now. Jaina mentally groans when she realizes that she will have to clean it all up. 

 

When she has tucked Sylvanas in, so the Quel’dorei is lying on her stomach, covered with the blanket up until her lower back, she kneels down besides Sylvanas’ head. ‘Are you comfortable?’ 

 

‘As comfortable as I can be,’ Sylvanas says. Her voice is very brittle and it reminds Jaina so much of the state she was in after the Kaldorei had attacked her. She glances to the fallen angel’s back once more, where the bones are now steadily growing out of the wounds, forming the beginnings of the wingbones. 

 

‘Alright then. It’s five in the morning, I’m going to run to the nearest store that’s open and buy some supplies for… however long it will take for your wings to grow out.’ After removing a stray strand of hair from Sylvanas’ face, Jaina continues: ‘If there’s anything, literally anything at all, call me and I will race back home. Okay?’ 

 

Sylvanas nods quietly, shifting under the blanket and softly groaning in pain as she stretches the tender skin on her back. 

 

~~~~~

 

Much of the first day goes by in a complete blur of pain and exhaustion, for Sylvanas. She remembers fragments of it. Jaina’s hurried footsteps as she ran through the hallway after her early morning shopping. The human prattling about “ice packs” while messing about with packaging materials, the sound much too loud for her ears. Then the intense relief as Jaina presses the ice packs against her hurt skin. Sylvanas is fairly certain that she moans when the pain momentarily dims. 

 

Jaina stays besides the bed for much of the day, pressing the cold packs against the edges of Sylvanas’ wounds and turning them around when they warmed up. When it is a more or less reasonable time in the morning, she hauls Sylvanas upright and watches over her as she eats a meagre breakfast that she can barely keep down. Her wounds aren’t bleeding badly anymore, though the fact that the bone that grows out of them splits the skin further as it steadily grows to the size of Jaina’s upper arm by the late afternoon unnerves the human to no end. In the evening, when Sylvanas shifts under the blankets, unable to sleep, Jaina lies next to her. She sees that her wings have grown out until the first joint, a slightly thinner set of two bones slowly forming at an angle from the first. Greyish skin is starting to form around the bone too, along with small white dots where feathers will surely grow out from. 

 

Sylvanas feels somewhat better on the second day. Her wing bones ache and the skin on her back feels oddly stretched, but the weight of the developing wings feels familiar. It feels grounding, assuring. A part of her that was gone, now brought back. She feels as though she is being made whole again. Still, she is horribly pale when looking at herself in the mirror, after a very careful shower, where she had to take great care not to hit her tender wings against the walls of the shower cabin. She has to learn again how to fold and unfold them, taking care not to bump into anything, like the walls of the house, the table, the couch, Jaina. 

 

After wobbling back to the bed, she lies down on her stomach, stretching her wings carefully and inspecting the growth. All the bones are there now, from where they erupt from her back to the four finger-like ones that make up the broadest part of the wing. Skin is starting to grow on them too, together with the beginnings of feathers. Yet something doesn't feel right. The feathers that Sylvanas can feel when she reaches for her back are rough, fraying and a sickly grey in colour. They are nothing like the pristine, firm, soft white feathers that she used to bear on her wings. She doesn’t say anything to Jaina about it, because her lover is concerned enough already. 

 

Jaina has to go to work on the third day, sadly. She only does so after Sylvanas has assured her a dozen times over that she can make her own instant noodles and wash herself. Then, as Jaina prepares to leave the house, Sylvanas shows her a small bit of the magic of her kind. It is a very simple spell, one of the first that any Quel’dorei has to learn. As Sylvanas puts both of her arms in the sleeves of a comfortable shirt, she closes her eyes and whispers a word under her breath. A familiar tingling sensation spreads in between her shoulder blades and a small smile appears on her face at the feeling. When she pulls the shirt over her head, the fabric parts around her wings, closing again when the bone has phazed through. Though it’s a very basic spell, Jaina gapes at her with an open mouth. She is still red in the face when leaving for her work. 

 

Sylvanas sighs as she returns to the living room. The curtains are still closed. She stretches her wings to their full width, revelling for a moment in the feeling. Then she reaches out to stroke along the inside of the left wing. At her lightest touch, the fraying feathers fall off, peeling parts of the dry, flaky skin off as well. Sylvanas snarls, while tears prick in the corners of her eyes. Whatever Arthas has done to her, it will not relent. Perhaps not enough curses were broken, or perhaps just not the right one. Even though she suffered for days to regrow her wings, he will not leave them be. 

 

~~~~~

 

After a short day at work, since she doesn’t have to make very long days anymore, due to the money that her family is giving her now, Jaina closes the door behind her. She can hear Sylvanas shuffling around in the living room, which she takes to be a good sign, since it means that the fallen angel has recovered enough to walk around in the house. The night where she had found Sylvanas on the floor, covered with her own blood, had been scary, making her think back to their battle with Arthas in Icecrown Citadel. Though her wound has faded to a rough scar, she still gets shivers when remembering how the ice spike had torn through her body. 

Sylvanas is standing in the middle of the living room, her wings - yes, her fully grown wings - half folded. She slowly turns around to face Jaina, and immediately, the woman can tell that there’s something very wrong. The Quel’dorei’s expression is blank and incredibly guarded. A look that Jaina knows very well from their first few weeks in each other’s company. Lips pressed into a tight line, eyes set distant, a small frown on her brow. 

 

‘Are you alright?’ Jaina carefully asks. 

 

To her surprise, the words spilling over Sylvanas’ lips are neither an answer, nor a rebuttal or anything of the like. The fallen angel takes a step back, away from Jaina, and says: ‘I am sorry, Jaina. I understand that my form may not be… appealing to you anymore. If you wish to, I can lea-’ 

 

‘Wait, what are you talking about, “not appealing anymore”?’ 

 

In response, Sylvanas spreads her wings a bit more, gesturing to them. ‘Can’t you see? I did not defeat Arthas, so his curses still affect me… and they affect my wings too. Which is why they look so… disgusting.’ 

 

Something in the fallen angel’s voice sounds so defeated that Jaina feels her own throat clench. She takes a step in Sylvanas’ direction, carefully holding out her hand in a gesture meant to comfort. Then she sees what Sylvanas is referring to. At first, she thinks that the feathers on the wings merely need to start growing, but as she looks closer, she sees that they are in fact already there. Thin, grey, unhealthily looking feathers. Fraying, looking as if they are unsuited for flight. On the broadest parts of Sylvanas’ wings, the bones are visible where the skin has peeled away. It looks as if her wings are decaying, the finger-like, yellowed bones showing where the skin seems to be ripped open. At least it looks as if no  _ more  _ of the skin is flaking off. 

 

‘Sylvanas…’ she softly starts to say, reaching out with a careful hand to stroke along the inside of the right wing. While Sylvanas jolts, she doesn’t pull away. Jaina’s touch doesn’t seem to hurt her either, which the human woman is very glad about. ‘Did you think that this would make me hate you?’ 

 

‘It’s hardly pretty to look at,’ Sylvanas mumbles. ‘Or to touch.’ 

 

In an instant, Jaina rushes the final inches that separate them. She clasps her arms tightly around Sylvanas, hugging the fallen angel, burying her head into her neck and pressing soft kisses on the cool skin. ‘But it’s still you. Sylvanas, please don’t ever say something like that again.’ 

 

For a few seconds, Sylvanas stands stiffly in Jaina’s embrace, too shocked to move. Then her arms wrap securely around Jaina’s waist and her head comes to rest on the human’s shoulder. ‘I suppose it is,’ she whispers, closing her eyes and allowing herself to surrender to the warm embrace they share. 

 

Then Jaina feels something else touching her shoulders. The surprisingly soft, tender sensation of Sylvanas’ wings, wrapping around her form. She slides one of her hands over the fallen angel’s left arm, bringing it up to the juncture of her wings and back, cupping where the bone starts and rubbing soft circles over the skin. Sylvanas shudders and tightens her hold. 

 

_(Art by lunamaniac94 on tumblr!)_

 

‘My fiery angel,’ Jaina murmurs into Sylvanas’ shoulder. ‘No matter what form you take, I’ll never stop loving you.’ 

 

~~~~~

 

A rush of excitement goes through Sylvanas’ chest as she sheds her human disguise, having followed Jaina up to the roof. Her lover insisted on testing out if she could fly, or at least jump higher than before, or something of the like. Though Sylvanas is fairly certain that it will not work, she longs to feel wind rushing to the few feathers she currently possesses. 

 

It’s pitch black on the roof. The door has since been repaired, with a key having been delivered to all the inhabitants of the apartment complex in the mail. Technically it’s only supposed to be used in an emergency situation, but Jaina did not seem to care, pushing open the door and grinning widely, her face illuminated by the flashlight of her phone. 

 

‘Come on! Try it. Please, I want to see them in motion.’ 

 

‘Alright, alright.’ Sylvanas spreads her wings, letting Jaina shine the light onto them. The wind does in fact rush through her feathers, the sensation making her think about the times she flew in the skies of Quel’thalas with her sisters. 

 

‘Oh god, your eyes still freak me out,’ Jaina says, laughing as she directs the light away from them. ‘They reflect light, like a cat’s, but it’s red and that makes it a hundred times more  creepy.’ 

 

With a grin on her face, Sylvanas bends one of her legs, preparing for takeoff. With a practiced motion, she launches herself upwards, flapping her wings with all her strength. To her own unabashed surprise - and Jaina’s too, judging by the high cry that comes out of her mouth - she is able to jump at least three times higher than she could without her wings. Apparently there is enough skin and feathers on them to propel her weight up. When she tries to fly up further though, the lack of true, flightworthy feathers make her tumble down quite ungracefully. 

 

Jaina doesn’t seem to mind it. ‘That was awesome!’ she exclaims. 

 

A few more tries later, Sylvanas is both able to launch herself ten feet into the air, glide downwards from that height for a few seconds and slow her landing enough so she doesn’t risk falling on her face. The night air is cool in her lungs, refreshing her body after warming it up with all the jumping up and down. While her wings aren’t quite as flexible as before she fell, she is fairly certain that she can get that maneuverability back if she trains hard enough. 

 

That thought gives rise to some others. She has promised Vereesa that she would train Jaina in the arcane. But there is hardly a suitable place for that inside Jaina’s apartment, or on the roof of the flat, or anywhere around it. The beginnings of arcane magic teaching can be quite _ destructive _ for the environment, after all. She would need somewhere remote, out of the sight of any other humans, since magic isn’t common at all in their realm. 

 

When she tells this to Jaina, when they are lying in bed together, with Jaina snugly wrapped in Sylvanas’ wings, the feeling of which she does not mind at all, as she had said multiple times in the last few minutes, the human nods. 

 

‘I know a place with lots of remote little islands where we can practice magic without anyone seeing us,’ she says, her voice thick with sleep. ‘The bay of Boralus, called Tiragarde Sound.’ 

 

Despite the fact that one of them is pressed into the pillow, Sylvanas can feel her ears perk up. ‘I suppose we won’t have to pretend that our relationship is fake, anymore? I’m sure your mother will appreciate that.’  

 

‘ _ Mhmm _ . She said we could always come over to visit. I don’t think she would mind it if we took a little holiday.’ 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing art is by [lunamaniac94](https://lunamaniac94.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!   
> She also writes the fic [Echoes of the Past](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20906390/chapters/49884749) here on ao3.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments pls? Kudos? 
> 
> Check out my tumblr: https://brazenedminstrel.tumblr.com


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